


Obsidian

by ScarletRaven1001



Category: Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, Vegebul - Fandom
Genre: 2019 Smutfest, 2019 Vegebul Smutfest, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Eros and Psyche (Hellenistic Religion & Lore) Fusion, Angst, Character Death, Dark, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Horror, Inspired by Mythology, Lemon, Romance, Smut, TPTH Vegebul Smutfest, Theme: Sensory Overload, Violence, cupid and psyche, tpth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2019-10-26 04:42:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17739206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScarletRaven1001/pseuds/ScarletRaven1001
Summary: To save their world from a deadly drought, Bulma was chosen as a maiden sacrifice to the God of the Underworld, the Prince of the Saiyajin. He pledges to provide her with everything she could ever want, but upon one condition: she shall never, ever, look upon his face.A Vegebul AU, inspired by the mythology of Cupid/Eros and Psyche.





	1. Pestilence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 1: Gooseflesh Skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> I had not been planning to write a story for this smutfest - because my last one, Insurrection, isn't even done yet, lol - but inspiration hit me at literally 3am and I had to get this out!  
> This first chapter will be short, but I hope you like it!  
> 

The pestilence was unlike anything that the world had ever seen.

The crops had all been razed, the livestock were diseased… the rivers had turned toxic as a sickly sort of slime crawled up to infest the waters from within the earth itself. 

There was no food, no water… the populace was dying, and there was no solution in sight.

The council of elders had lost hope, and had fallen into the only sanctuary left behind from when the gods of creation had abandoned their corrupt world…

The temple of the Saiyajin, the Gods of Destruction.

Their prayers were fast, desperate… the fate of the world, and all those they loved, rested solely upon the whim of the powerful beings within, whose malevolence far outmatched their benevolence, but whose strength was the only hope they had left.

As the head of the council stepped forward, a miracle that they did not foresee suddenly burst into flames before them…

All bowed as the Prince of the warrior gods of the Underworld appeared before them, shrouded in hellish fire and darkness, offering them his services.

However, as with all beings of the night, the Prince was not going to do it for free…

8-8-8-8-8

“Surely, you understand…” the head of the council begged, on his hands and knees. 

Bulma sat stunned, disbelief filling her, as the words of her father echoed through her mind. For once, she was unable to speak, her lips merely gaping open and closed like a fish as she tried and failed to find an appropriate response.

Nothing in her life could have ever prepared her for such terrifying news.

“I…” Bulma said, gulping in horror as she tried to digest the request – nay, the command – spoken by her father. “I am… to be offered as a gift to the prince of the Saiyajin?”

Her dear father looked up, blue eyes wide and terrified, but determined. “Bulma, it was the only thing that the Prince demanded from us, and in return, he would lift the pestilence. I had no choice. Millions of lives are at stake-”

“And mine was a worthy enough sacrifice,” she hissed, hatred laced through her words even as she fully understood.

The fate of one woman was nothing, compared to the lives of everyone else.

“It was not an easy decision,” her father said, voice tearful, contrite… helpless. “But it was His only request… the pestilence will be gone, but He wants my youngest daughter to be given in exchange.”

Bulma closed her sky-hued eyes as her tears began to sting heavily, their salt burning her throat.

“I… I understand, father,” she whispered, the pain in her voice raw while the horror of her fate began to unfold in her mind. “I shall be enslaved by a ruthless god, but all will be saved. I… I accept.”

8-8-8-8-8

The Gifting Ceremony was arduous, but Bulma wished for it to never end. She wished for the prayers to go on forever, as the conclusion of the ceremony would also spell the end of her life as she knew it…

After the ceremony, Bulma would be the property, the slave and plaything, of the Prince.

Her sister, Tights, had been far less understanding, screaming furiously at their father for daring to forfeit the life of one of his own. She had been detained until the Gifting was over, and Bulma wanted to cry at the thought that the last time she ever saw her sister was as she was being dragged, crying, as she struggled against the guards who held her back while Bulma herself was restrained on her seat.

At the moment, she looked around at the forced opulence that surrounded her, at the golden chandeliers that lit the grand hall as the council chanted their prayers for the Saiyajin, calling upon them to take their “willing” sacrifice.

She was dressed in a flowing cyan gown, the soft silk caressing her skin, weightlessly floating with the dry wind that blew through the temple. She sat before the altar, staring angrily at the ornament that rested on a blood-red pillow atop the obsidian marble.

It was a tiara, made of dark gold, etched with the crest of the Saiyajin. The red lines of the emblem taunted her, and her eyes followed the sharp lines of the symbol, imagining the pain that would come as it was branded on her skin.

The prayers were becoming louder, bawling through the night sky, and she gasped when all the lights surrounding them were suddenly extinguished…

It seemed, they were finally heard.

A thick cloak of darkness spread forth, a suffocating miasma that further engulfed the darkness that had already descended upon them.

It was pitch dark, and Bulma failed to suppress the terrified whimpers that sprung from her chest, the rapid beating of her heart the only remaining proof that the all-encompassing blackness had not yet stolen her from the realm of the living. 

A slow, poignant red flame appeared, lighting up the altar, and she stared, transfixed, as the fire began to crawl, forming a dark circle of scarlet hellfire.

“The Prince,” she muttered in horror, but though she longed to shield her eyes from the harsh light of the red flames, she could not peel her gaze from the vision of the dark sillhouette that began to emerge from their depths.

Her flesh tingled in fright, her nerves fired up by her adrenaline as the dread roused gooseflesh from her skin. 

This… demon… was to be her master.

The form within was a shadow, even as the hellish fires surrounded him, and Bulma held back a scream as the figure moved, turning to face her.

The creature was wide, clearly powerful, and what seemed to be black flames danced wildly above its head.

She was stunned, motionless, as she watched a single, clawed hand rise up, reaching for her shaking wrist, and as it touched her, she flinched back as his touch surprisingly felt like ice upon her skin.

“Mine,” she heard it speak, its voice a low, gravelly tone that wreaked havoc with her senses.

It was the last thing she knew, before the pressure became too much, and Bulma lost the battle with her horror as she fainted dead away, right into the demon's icy arms.

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued..._


	2. Quake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma finds herself alone and in the dark... the new bride of the Prince of the Saiyajin.
> 
> Day 2: Quaking Body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is my entry for Day 2!  
> Warning: very slightly dubious consent.

Her vision was dark, as Bulma began her gradual return to consciousness. The back of her throat felt like she had swallowed sand, and her heart was pounding hard and heavy. 

A residual feeling of fear lingered in her chest, staunchly reminding her of past traumas: pirates storming their schools, the thieves who had once raided their home and murdered her mother…

Their world was a quagmire, and a bitter part of her understood what had driven the gods of creation to forsake them…

They were wicked. Their land was cursed. They deserved the pestilence that had befallen them.

Not a single man out there, deserved redemption.

The thought pulled her harshly into the present, as she was reminded that she had been sacrificed at the altar of the gods of destruction, a gift to appease the fury of the celestials; a tool to redeem the damned souls of her fellowmen.

It was painfully unfair, that she be the one to suffer now, when all she had done all her life was teach or invent tools that would help her brethren. She was a good person, if a little bit of a bitch sometimes, and her every cell rebelled against the torture that she will surely be forced to endure, at the hands of the Prince of the Saiyajins.

A chill ran through her body as she remembered his touch, the coldness of death and nothingness gripping her wrist while she could do nothing but stare in abject horror.  
That icy touch, and the strength she had felt in his grasp, were to be parts of her eternal torment.

“Why me?” she thought in desperation as she squinted, puzzled at how long it took for her vision to adjust to the dark. She was certain that her eyes were open, but all she could see was… black.

Was she still asleep, and just dreaming?

A hushed rustle, off to her right, made her freeze, and she slowly turned her head towards where the sound had come from.  
Yet, she was still unable to see anything.

She raised her hands to her face, feeling the skin of her cheeks upon her fingers, but she could not see even a silhouette of her limbs.

An unbidden terror filled her, suspecting the worst.

“Oh gods,” she whispered, horrified. Had she been blinded? Had the prince taken her sight from her, while he whisked her away from the temple?

A grim chuckle made her skin crawl, and she barely pressed her hands to her lips to muffle the shriek that bubbled from her chest.

“It would be futile to try to stay silent and undetected. I can see you clearly, woman,” a hollowly familiar, low, growling voice spoke, and Bulma sucked in a hesitant breath as she quickly made the connection in her head.

“P-Prince of the Saiyajin?” she asked, voice wavering while she tried hard to hold back the tears that built from her terror.

Another chuckle. “Prince is fine.”

She swallowed. “I… where am I?”

“Your new home.”

“Home?” Bulma asked, before she realized that she was still unable to see, and without thinking, she blurted out, “Did you blind me? Why can’t I see anything?”

“Do not worry. I did not blind you. You are simply in absolute darkness,” he answered.  
She hugged herself with her arms as she mulled, “Absolute darkness… Are we in your world, then?”

“We are still in your realm,” he said, “but not anywhere that your people can find.”

“Why have you chosen me?” she asked, hysteria making her rash, uncaring of the consequences should the demon tire of her questions. “What am I to be used for -”

“You are to be my earthly bride.”

His answer, straight and simple, stunned her.

“Your bride?” she whispered into the darkness, horrified at the implications. “Do you intend to… use me? Have me as your plaything?”

“Tch,” he said, and Bulma realized that his tone carried a hint of insult as he continued. “It is beneath my station to force myself upon a woman. And I have never once needed to. I am the Prince of the Saiyajin. Thousands of beings in multiple realms would give their very souls to lay with me.”

“And what of my soul?” she demanded. “Does it belong to you now?”

“It is too early to tell if I would even want it.”

Bulma bristled, insulted. “Why wouldn’t you? What is wrong with my soul?”

At this, she heard him give a momentary pause, before a sharp bark of laughter, followed by another, echoed within the room.  
Soon, he was laughing in a near maniacal manner, and against her better judgment, Bulma felt the corners of her lips lift up into a small smile.

His laughter was loud, booming – and slightly terrifying, if she were honest – but the sound of him laughing made him seem a lot less like a phantom to her, and more... ordinary. Human.

It put her at ease, and she felt her shoulders slump slightly as a small giggle bubbled up from her, not quite understanding what was so funny, but laughing with him, nonetheless.  
His laughter gradually died into snickers, and he spoke, an amused lilt in his voice.

“See, woman,” he said, “this is the fire that I saw in you. I have observed you once, and your gumption fascinates me. You… intrigue me. And that is the reason why I have chosen you.”

Now emboldened, she dared to ask, “What is it that you truly expect of me, then? Am I a prisoner? Am I supposed to serve you?”

“No,” he answered. “I told you. You are my earthly bride. You shall not be treated as a slave. This entire estate is yours, to do with as you please. You can explore it in its entirety as you wake in the morning.”

Bulma frowned. “And where is this estate, exactly?”

“Atop a mountain, but this palace cannot be seen by mortal eyes,” he explained. “In the morning, for as long as there is daylight, you are free to roam the gardens. However… You are not allowed to go beyond the gates. Should you want for anything material, simply close your eyes and wish for it, and once your eyes open again, you shall have it.”

She swallowed, the idea behind his words too wild for her to comprehend. “You… you could do that for me?”

“Of course,” he sneered. “My bride shall want for nothing. All I demand from you, is your loyalty.”

“Just… my loyalty?” she asked

“I do not expect your affection,” he said carelessly. “It matters not to me, if you would not think fondly of me. However, I require your loyalty. You are my bride, and you shall interact only with me.”

She was silent for a moment, and then, hesitantly, she leaned forward, holding her hands out to where she thought his voice emanated from.

She heard him chuckle darkly. “What are you doing?”

“I… I am trying to find you,” she answered, groping around in the dark, her eyes widening futilely as she tried to catch even a shadowed glimpse of him. “Why won’t you let me see you?”

She felt the amusement drain from him, as the room was suddenly plunged into frigid cold, and she heard him move, shifting away from her grasping hands.

“Please…” she called. “May I see-”

“No. You may not.”

The finality of his tone made her body tremble, and she froze, confused.

“Why not?” she asked softly, dropping her hands to her lap to clutch the thin material of her dress.

“For inasmuch as I am a god, I am also a demon,” he said, voice rough, adamant. “For a mortal to know what I look like, to even know my name… holds a risk that I am not willing to take.”

“Your name,” she whispered. “I may never know your name?”

“No,” he said gruffly, a soft hint of reprimand lacing his tone. “And you will never try to coax it from me. As you will never try any measures, to gaze upon me.”

She stayed still, forlorn; A lonely sort of desperation filled her as she thought of how she will be spending the rest of her life with such a being, only to never even glimpse upon him, or utter his name.

“I am your bride,” she spoke, “but I shall never be permitted to know what you even look like?”

“Never.”

“What then, shall I hold on to, as your bride?” she asked. “If I may never see you… how am I to know if it is you, walking into my chambers at night?”

He chuckled, and she felt him move again, mere moments before she felt something feverishly hot brush against her exposed arm.

She gasped, leaning away in shock, recognizing the contrast between this heat and the cold clutch of the being who appeared before her in the hall.

“Are you really the Prince?” she asked, scared, unsure. “Why are you so warm?”

“The freezing cold that held you in the Saiyajin temple was only my apparition,” he said. “I stand before you now in my true form.”

“The form that I may never see?” she asked, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone. “You still have not answered me. How shall I even know that it is you who walks up to me in the darkness?”

“You shall never see me,” he answered, but Bulma heard a note of something dark, heady, in his tone, one that had not been there before.

“So you have said-”

“But you shall never need to, to know of my presence.”

A moment after the words were spoken, Bulma found herself wrapped in heat, and she gasped, blindly clutching at what seemed to be thick, powerful arms that now held her around the waist.

She felt the stirrings of panic simmer within her as she felt a hot wall of flesh behind her, pressing against her, molding her to its hardness while a heated puff of breath blew gently against her nape.

“Prince…” she whispered, heart beating nervously as his thick body against her roused the most confusing and yet wondrous tremors from deep within her core.

“You need only to feel, woman,” he murmured against her, and she gasped as she felt him move her, breath lodged in her throat when she felt herself laid onto a soft and smooth surface.

He had clearly taken her to bed, and she stiffened as she felt his hands begin to roam, grasping her waist and slowly, heatedly making their way down to dig his fingers into the sides of her hips. Her own hands lifted above her head to fist into the sheets.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, even as a small quiver shook the end of her question.

“Do not worry,” he whispered, and she felt him lay himself across her front, his chest heaving slightly against her. “I wish to know my bride. But at any time you wish, I shall stop.”

She laid silent as she felt him move above her, molding her to him, and she felt warm legs move to straddle her thighs, caging her in the heat of his body.

Curiously, she lifted her hands, groping in the dark until she found purchase on a thick, solid wall of flesh.

She squeezed experimentally while he breathed hotly upon her touch, and she let her fingers roam, noting the warm, smooth skin beneath her palms.

He was wearing some sort of very thin vest that parted easily for her questing fingers, and she almost smiled as her fingers brushed across a slightly rougher ridge and pebbled bit of flesh, provoking a sharply inhaled breath from him.

He too, began to move his hands more adventurously, parting the sheath of her dress, until his hands caressed the soft skin of her stomach.

She gasped softly as he splayed his hands to grasp her waist, a possessive note in his touch.

He was so warm, and she felt herself begin to shiver from the contrast of the cold air against the heat of his hands.

He leaned closer, letting her feel his breath against her neck, and against her common sense she felt her body start to quake, a strange sort of pleasure running through her limbs as she luxuriated in his firm yet gentle hold.

“P-Prince,” she whispered, her hands fisting into his clothing, a few moments before he suddenly pulled away, leaving her bereft.

“I shall leave you be,” he said, and Bulma noted the harsher edge to his tone as he spoke.

“Where are you going?” she asked, oddly breathless, still reeling from the fire that he had ignited within her.

“To my realm. Tomorrow evening, I shall come for you again.”

A sudden flash of red flames, only a few feet away from her, made Bulma jump in surprise.  
When the fire disappeared, she blinked…

The room, though still quite dark, was now lightly illuminated by the brightness of a full moon, staring back at her from beyond windows that she did not even realize had been there.

It seemed that the Prince brought absolute darkness with him, wherever he went.

And as Bulma recalled the mild euphoria that his touches had invoked in her, she had a sinking feeling that the absolute darkness was about to drown her… very soon.

 8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued..._


	3. Musk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma finds herself longing for her dark Prince.  
> Day 3: Musky Scent  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> You would probably notice that I have been trying a new style of writing here. This chapter may seem a little choppy, but I hope it is still enjoyable.  
> I would love to hear your thoughts!

Bulma stared out the window, rubbing her eyes in disbelief.

Looking out at the green grass, the celestial blue skies… there was absolutely no sign of the pestilence.

Her hands shook against the glass window pane, near tears at the beauty of it all, at the sounds of raging water and of the birds chirping in the distance.

The Prince had kept his word. The Saiyajin had, indeed, lifted the drought with unbelievable magic, and all at the price of…  her.

She still did not quite understand what had made the Prince choose her over millions of other women, other than the “gumption” that he had claimed to have observed  from her once.

Which led to another question: exactly how and why had he been observing her, in the first place?

It gave her a strange and disturbing sort of thrill, to know that sometime in her past, a literal God of Destruction had been watching her go about her day, unaware… and that he had liked what he had seen enough to have her be at the forefront of his mind as he demanded compensation for lifting the pestilence.

As for liking what he had seen…

Bulma blushed a deep red, scowling down at her dress, or lack, thereof.

She had not known about it the previous night, as she sat in the utter darkness before the Prince,  but she had apparently been in little more than a silk camisole with a transparency equivalent to clear water.

The dress was so thin, that she might as well have been nude. Her nipples were clearly visible through the almost translucent material, and the only thing that kept her decent had been the small blue undergarments covering her center.

“Hmph. No wonder he had been so pleasant and relaxed around my questions. He had quite a nice eyeful,” she muttered, moving to a nearby bureau that could hopefully contain some more… _conventional…_ clothing.

Upon opening the drawers, however, she realized that she was out of luck, as all of the cabinets were completely empty.

She sighed, lifting her hands up to her eyes as she shook her head in disbelief.

“Seriously? Nothing?” she asked aloud to no one. She closed her eyes in irritation and muttered, “I wish I could at least have a few of my older house dresses here so I could have something to wear!”

A loud thud surprised her, causing her to gasp and clutch her chest as she looked around in alarm.

“What was that? Is anyone here? Hello?” she called out, before she noticed that one of the drawers that she had slammed closed in her earlier frustration was now partly open.

Curious, Bulma moved closer to the drawer, a single finger reaching out to pull it open. She peeked in slowly, apprehension making her jittery, and she very, very slowly drug the handle.

Her mouth gaped open, eyes popping wide open, at what she saw.

Inside the dresser, folded exactly the way she had left them in her own cabinets in her home, were her house dresses.

She sucked in a breath as she stuck a tentative hand into the cabinet, drawing back as she realized that truly, those were her clothes that she had somehow wished into appearing into her new chambers.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered, lifting one dress as she recalled the Prince’s words, as he told her that she could wish for any material item, and she would have it. Somehow, she never imagined that his words would be so literal, but she should have truly known better. After all, he _was_ a god.

She pulled out one of the dresses, setting it down on the bed, before she looked around to find the nearest bathroom.

She needed a bath. Perhaps, a nice long one, before she would even dare to leave her room.

She had the feeling that her new home would have a lot more surprises in store.

8-8-8-8-8

“Woman. Wake up.”

Bulma stirred, batting slightly at the extremely warm hand that held her by the shoulders, shaking her gently awake.

She yawned, stretching her arms out above her head as she opened her eyes, only to find herself staring into encompassing blackness.

So, her Prince was back, then.

She heard him grunt in approval as she slowly sat up, pushing her long blue hair back from her face and behind her shoulders, before she laid her hands on her lap, waiting for him to speak.

“I see you have been busy today,” he said, amusement clear in his voice.

Bulma grinned widely in the darkness as she answered. “Yes! Nice of you to notice!”

“I have noticed your… redecorations.”

“I found the palace rather drab, so I thought I would add a woman’s touch!” she answered. “It is a beautiful palace, and it is frightfully large, but the walls are so grey and flat.”

“The main hall is littered with flowers,” he observed, “And the garden has a small sitting area.”

“You said that I could go out into the gardens, and I needed a place to sit,” she said. “And I am alone here for the entire day, likely for the rest of my life, so I thought that you perhaps would not mind if I made the house more comfortable, at least.”

“And what did you have for your meals?” he asked.

“I wished for some meat and vegetables with butter,” Bulma smiled. “I wanted something that I had not been able to eat since the start of the drought.”

“Was your meal delicious?”

She was about to answer when she paused in confusion. Was he truly curious? Her brows furrowed slightly before she spoke, “Yes. It was very good.”

“What else did you do today?”

His answer made her realize that her momentary suspicion was correct… The Prince seemed strangely interested in her mundane activities.

“Well, I explored the palace, walked around the halls. I am sure it is very boring, compared to the day that you had,” Bulma said. “What have you been doing today, my Prince? Destroyed any worlds?”

She heard him snort lightly before he answered, “Why yes, woman. I did raise hell upon a small realm that refused to pay homage to the Saiyajin. The sound of their tortured screams was absolute music to my ears.”

She grimaced, hoping he was joking, but knowing he was not. “Is that so?”

He sighed, and Bulma imagined that he must have been leaning back on a chair, relaxing his tired limbs as he drawled, “It is a typical thing, for me. I do enjoy being the Prince of the Saiyajin, but at times, the carnage becomes rather boring.”

“How could _that_ possibly be boring?” Bulma blurted. “It must be horrifying, to wreak such havoc.”

“I was born to do this,” he answered. “I have been alive for several of your lifetime’s generations, and I have led my men since I was barely old enough to walk. At times, I wonder what it is like to live quietly, even while I know that I personally could not bear such a mundane life.”

Understanding dawned upon Bulma then, and never one to mince words, she asked, “Is that why you have kept me here? You wish for a glimpse of this ‘boring’ life?”

A beat of silence, then, “Perhaps,” he said. “I could stand to observe your life through one such as yourself, with no true power to speak of save for your tongue.”

Bulma smirked. “I have a powerful mind, if I do say so myself.”

“I am quite aware,” he said. “I have observed your pursuits back in your home town. If I was a kinder being, I would be sorry for taking their best inventor and lecturer from them.”

There he was again, hinting at having observed her before. “Exactly how did you know of me, anyway? I know I am popular in town but I didn’t think I was famous enough to be noticed by a god.”

“Just know that I had seen you, and found you interesting,” he said, and Bulma was not fool enough to miss the clear evasion in his answer. It made him uncomfortable, and now she was absolutely dying to know the story.

However, she decided to let it drop and change the topic. “I wish to thank you, by the way. As I stood in the garden today, I saw how you had completely restored the world from the drought. My people must be so happy.”

“They are. And the prayers in my temple are turning me deaf,” he complained. “And do not thank me. I did not do it without consequence. After all, they had to offer you up to me.”

8-8-8-8-8

“Your entire study room?”

On Bulma’s third night in the palace, Vegeta greeted her with these words as he roused her from slumber.

“What?” she asked, mind still muddled from sleep.

“You called all of your study materials into one of the rooms,” he said. “Did you intend to learn more about the sciences?”

“Of course,” she said. “I have nothing else to do, all day. I thought that maybe I could allay my boredom by studying and reading.”

She could practically hear him shrug. “Do as you want. You could wish for an entire library, this palace is large enough.”

“How does it manage to do that, anyway?” she asked. “How can I just wish for something, and it would appear?”

“This estate has a lot of magic within in, woman,” he answered. “Some of its mysteries, I cannot explain to you.”

She frowned slightly. “Did you know that I have a name?”

“What?” he asked, surprised. “Of course I-”

“I have noticed that you call me ‘woman’. My name is Bulma,” she clarified.

“I know your name, woman,” he snarled defensively.

“Then why do you call me ‘woman’?”

“I thought it would be fair, since you are not allowed to speak my name.”

“But see, Prince… If I knew your name, I would use it.”

8-8-8-8-8

“I honestly had thought that the tiara was for me,” Bulma mused, as she combed her hair in the darkness while the Prince sat beside her on the bed.

He chuckled. “No. The Saiyajin Diadem, or the _tiara_ , as you call it, is a powerful tool. It can be used as a portal into the Saiyajin realm, if you know how to call on even a single one of our kind.”

She smiled, knowing he could see her. “I am glad that you have shared this information with me. I had thought, that with the way to refuse to let me know your name and how you look, that you would not trust me with such vital knowledge.”

“It does not bother me, to share this with you, since you would not be able to do anything with this information, anyway,” he said. “You have no access to the Diadem, and there is no one else you could tell.”

“I suppose you are right,” she answered, groping about to place the comb down on the dresser beside the bed. “But still. I appreciate it.”

He shifted closer to her, and she felt his warm hand brush against her thigh as he spoke. “I myself, am surprised by how well you are taking this. I had known you were a strong woman but had expected more terrified screaming, to be frank.”

Bulma laughed, reaching out to touch him, and upon finding his arm, squeezed him slightly. “Perhaps, as much as I am surprised by how you have not raped or tortured me.”

“Yet,” he said, and she heard the rumble of laughter deep within his chest, letting her know that he was jesting.

“I am not joking!” she said. “I have been here for beyond a week. What other purpose would one think that a god would have, for taking a mortal bride?”

He was silent for a long while, and if Bulma was not able to feel his skin beneath her palms, she would have thought that he had left.

“Prince?” she called. “Have I… Have I offended you?”

She felt his arm move, before his hand found hers, giving it a gentle squeeze as he spoke, “No. You have not. But know this: I ask myself the same thing.”

“I don’t understand-”

“I too, do not understand exactly _why_ I have taken you.”

8-8-8-8-8

She startled awake, heart beating wildly in her chest. The wind whistled angrily through her open window, and Bulma shivered, the cold seeping through her bones, the icy grip of an oncoming storm clutching her entire body, refusing to let go.

There was still a measure of light, and she looked around, concerned.

Usually, the Prince would come for her in the middle of the night. He would sit with her, speaking of mundanities, and Bulma had come to expect his visits, enough that her body would wake at around the same time each night.

However, he was not there at the moment, and she was confused as to why her phantom husband was not home with her yet.

Bulma paused in her thoughts as she stood to close the window, pushing back the satin curtains that flapped wildly in the winds of an upcoming storm.

Since when had she begun to think of him, as such? He was a demon who had taken her from everything she knew, and just because he seemed to be trying to display a measure of kindness to her, did not mean that he was not evil.

She turned from the window, hugging herself, and decided to venture out of her bedroom to get a drink of water. She was beginning to remember the reason for her sudden waking, a darkly demented dream that had filled her with cold terror, drowning her in a sense of helplessness and regret.

She was in deep darkness, with only a spark of red light leading her to sanctuary. Yet, though she strained to run and reach it, the flame remained distant… unmoving. Uncaring.

She reached her kitchen, one that she had designed for herself to remind herself of her dear mother. It was rife with cooking utensils and other little knives that she would never use, but they were things that she had remembered seeing, as a child.

After taking her drink, Bulma turned back to return to her chamber. She was halfway through the hall, when she felt it…

The earlier cold became even more frigid, freezing her very core, and she pivoted slowly, dread filling her as she watched a single spot of obsidian appear and begin to widen, spreading out like gnarled fingers to engulf her surroundings, clawing for her as tendrils of terror began to wrap around her limbs.

“No,” she yelped, terrified of the darkness, not knowing what would happen should it swallow her without the Prince beside her.

She clutched the skirt of her sleeping gown and ran full tilt, reaching in desperation for the doorway to her chambers, where a tiny burst of red flame had begun to manifest, just in time to serve as her guide.

“Prince!” she screamed. “Help me!”

The red flame had formed a ring that surrounded a single, shadowy form, and Bulma strained her eyes to see the dark apparition, making out the silhouette of a wide-shouldered man with a narrow waist and thick arms, his head surrounded by a thick wave that was akin to the fire that surrounded him.

“Prince!” she screamed again, and she watched the flames die down, plunging her into absolute darkness, before she felt powerful arms surround her in comforting heat.

She reached out, holding him to her as she sobbed in terror, burying her face against him as her heart beat fast in the aftermath of her panic.

“What happened,” he asked, holding her tight as she shuddered.

“Prince!” she whispered weakly as she pulled him against her tighter, nearly sobbing against him.

She took deep, calming breaths against him, filling her senses with nothing but _him_ as she felt him, smelled him…

The aroma of him, a manly, musky scent that reminded her of burning coal and wild grass, made her shiver in  delight, and she snuggled closer, taking a stronger whiff as he both calmed and excited her…

“Bulma…”

She gasped as, all at once, her fear evaporated, replaced with the shock of hearing her name from him for the very first time. His deep voice had caressed her name with such care, his low timbre lending to an electrifying cadence that made her nerves come alive…

“You… you said my name!” she said as she looked up, eyes wide as they still struggled to see him, to catch even a momentary glimpse.

He simply held her, and she felt his hand tangle in her hair, pulling slightly as he formed a fist around the strands.

“What had you in such a state?” he asked. “What had you so frightened?”

She took a deep breath, seeking solace in his scent once more, as she answered, “The dark. It was so thick. I was terrified by the dark…”

He tightened his hold on her as he leaned down, burying his face in her hair, whispering in her ear.

“You need not fear the dark,” he soothed. “It is your ally, for as long as you belong to me.”

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued…_


	4. Breaths

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma could feel a fire building between her and the Prince, and both are tempted with a taste...  
> Day 4: Breath on Neck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day!

“ _Stay with me tonight. Lay beside me. I don’t want to sleep alone._ ”

The Prince pondered Bulma’s words as she lay deep in slumber, a hand holding onto his while her head rested upon his chest. Her gentle breaths whispered softly into the pitch-dark night, and he leaned down, inhaling the scent of her hair, before he snapped his eyes shut in consternation.

He had arrived late for their nightly talks, as there had been a sizeable uprising in one of the domains that he ruled over. The people wanted to learn the secrets of the Saiyajin, and it had been difficult for his men to contain them without his assistance.

Unfortunately, Bulma had woken before he arrived, and had seen the way that the darkness was made to spread around as he prepared his arrival. He knew that the darkness unsettled her, but the sight of the obsidian shadows that he brought with him from the underworld had terrified her, in spite of how brave she truly was.

After all, she was a mortal, none the wiser about the Shadows of Nothingness, and she had shivered in his arms as he had held her, with nothing but his heat to lull her into a fitful sleep.

He dared not speak, lest he betray how he berated himself for his carelessness that had caused her such aggravation.

The Prince opened his eyes once again, looking down at his bride, following the strands of her blue hair that framed her face like the sky surrounding the brilliant sun. She was truly beautiful, he would admit, and she had enchanted him as he watched her from the shadows, while she mutinously tried to repair broken machines that were damaged by the users’ incompetence.

She was glorious fury as she glared utter murder at the fools, and as he gazed amusedly at her, it was as if his dark heart had been pierced by a forceful arrow, throwing it haphazardly at her feet.

He had lied to her. It was not only _once_ , that he had observed her.

He had come to see her more and more often as the gods of creation debated abandoning her realm, and he had seen his chance to have her as they all washed their hands off her disgustingly sinful world.

It was nothing to him, to restore their world from the drought.

He had wanted her. He was determined to have her. The pestilence had given him his chance to demand his possession of her, without him looking like a love-struck mortal.

The Prince of the Saiyajin, shamelessly, helplessly enthralled, by a single mortal woman.

How his people would mock him, if they ever knew.

And yet, as he watched her deep blue lashes flutter over her cheeks as her dreams unfolded beneath her lids, he felt no shame for his actions… all he felt, were her small hands clutching his vest, her soft breath upon his neck, and the potent beating of her heart against his immortal chest.

She had asked about her soul. He was unable to answer, for should he possess her mortal spirit, she could never move on and will remain as a mindless phantom in his realm.

He would never forgive himself if he were to extinguish her fire.

With much regret, he moved away, extricating his limbs from her gentle embrace. He needed to think. And he could not do that with her so near.

He gazed at her porcelain cheek, flushed pink from the cool night air, and he found that he could not fight the powerful impulse to touch her, once more, before he left.

He stooped down, letting his lips brush softly against her skin, and he could swear that he saw the sides of her lips lift into a peaceful smile as a sigh escaped her mouth in her sleep.

He brushed her hair back from her face as he leaned close, his warm lips brushing her ear as he spoke softly, his words little more than a whisper in the wind.

“Vegeta,” he murmured. “My name, is Vegeta.”

8-8-8-8-8

“ _My name is…_ ”

Bulma’s eyes shot open, the soothing darkness of her dream drifting lazily through her mind.

She could still hear the gruff voice whispering in her ear, feel the gentle stroke of something warm and beautiful on her cheek.

“ _… name is…_ ”

There was something momentously important in her dream, and she tried in vain to hold on even as the last vestiges of it drifted away.

“… _name…”_

And just like that, it was gone, back into the deepest recesses of her mind, only to be awakened upon her slumber.

She looked around, vision blurry as she moved into wakefulness, and she rubbed her eyes to focus on her bright surroundings as the sun shined in through her open windows.

Bulma stood up, stretching her arms above her head as she yawned, before she made her usual morning trek to the bathroom to wash herself and get ready for another long and solitary day.

She had books to read, and dark dreams to interpret.

She also needed to sort her thoughts regarding a certain phantom husband, the demon who had patiently held her the previous night as she shuddered in terror at the darkness that she had thought would swallow her alive.

He had assured her that the darkness was her ally, but it did not change the fact that the deep black void that she had seen swallowing up the world around her had scared her, and it took his reassuring embrace to chase her fears away.

The Prince…

How could a being so terrifying, be so gentle?

Perhaps, he was not that way beyond the two of them, but to Bulma, the mere sound of his voice gave her a calmness that she could not ever remember feeling.

He had been right… she did not need to see him, to know of his presence.

However…

She remembered the menacing, thick form that had begun to emerge from the fires of hell as he appeared into her chambers, the shape of a finely-built man whose head seemed surrounded by dark flames.

Her imagination soared high as her mind tried to fill in the gaps, tried its hardest to reconcile the bits and pieces that she knew of him with the illusionary thoughts of how she wanted him to be.

She could see a man with powerful arms and a solid, chiseled chest… with a sculpted abdomen that tapered into a trim waist and narrow hips. She could see light caramel skin that glistened in the daylight, dressed in the simple vest that she had felt him wearing as her hands desperately tried to hold on to him the night before.

His face… she could feel him as he laid his head on her head, and she could see in her mind’s eye a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, a regal nose above pursed, thin lips.

But his eyes… she drew a blank. She had no idea what his eyes would be like, but somehow, she knew with certainty that they would be dark… a deep, impenetrable black.

She felt a slight shiver run down her spine as she continued wondering about what he looked like, even as she realized that truly, even should he look like a beast, she did not think it would matter…

The Prince was her husband. And in a strange way, she felt like she would not care what he would look like, in the end.

His strange kindness had captured her, the lonely tone of his curious questions called out to her own lonely heart.

It could just be her solitary confinement speaking, but regardless, she knew...

He had wanted her loyalty. And she was willing to offer it to him.

Her lonely days aside, she realized how much she looked forward to her pitch dark nights.

Her nights with her Prince.

8-8-8-8-8

As night began to fall upon the palace, Bulma, alone in her room, closed her eyes and made a simple wish.

When she opened her eyes again, she smiled at the simple thin camisole that now rested on the bed before her, and with a grin and a blush, she grabbed it and put it on before she had the chance to change her mind.

She wanted to look nice for the Prince on that night.

The material was light and airy, and though it was nowhere near as lasciviously revealing as the gown she had on when she was first sent into the palace, it was… adequately sultry.

She smiled at her reflection in the mirror, running her fingers through her long cerulean hair, and she noted how wild her blue eyes looked as she assessed her appearance.

Still, she straightened with a huff, nodding confidently to herself. “I look good. I look damn good, and the Prince is a lucky demon god Saiyajin.”

With a self-satisfied smirk, she laid back on the bed, closed her eyes, and in a few minutes, she was asleep.

She woke as she felt his presence, just in time to hear the soft, quickly concealed gasp come from the Prince. She heard his footsteps, slow and tentative, as he approached her side. A few beats later and she felt the bed dip on her right, near where her hand lay flat against the mattress.

“Woman,” he called, voice even, calm. “Open your eyes. I know you are awake.”

She did as he asked, giving him a wide grin. “Good evening, Prince.”

“Good evening,” he began, a teasing note punctuating his words. “Might I ask what inspired your state of dress?”

She laughed as she pushed herself to sit up from the bed, before she turned her head to the right as her hand groped around to reach out to him. He took her offered hand, holding it in his usual, extremely warm grasp, and she let her fingers twine gently with his as she gave him a bright smile.

“I just wanted to give you a little… gift,” she said cheekily, wiggling her brows as she shook her shoulders lightly from side to side.

“Ah, is that what this is?” he asked, his voice a low and mischievous growl. “I get a free hint of what lies within the usual long sleeping gowns?”

She shivered, her entire body coming alive as the low timbre swept through her like lightning, and Bulma reached up with her free hand, finding purchase on a thick limb that was hard and yet yielding.

She let her hands roam, and she heard him chuckle as he asked, “Are you feeling me up, you vulgar woman?”

She recognized the jest, but instead of rising to his bait, she simply grinned and answered, “And am I not allowed to touch my husband?”

Her hands met a crook, and she smartly surmised that she had been touching his bicep, remembering how powerful his arms had looked among the backdrop of his flames. “You have… very thick arms, Prince.”

The Prince sucked in a gasp, and she then felt him move to hold her forearms in his large hands, softly caressing her wrists.

“You wish to touch me?” he asked.

She nodded enthusiastically, and she felt her blood rush to her cheeks as she shyly but resolutely responded, “I wish to _know_ you.”

He snarled, the sound sending shocking tremors through her core as he demanded, “Do you know what you are saying, Bulma?”

She nodded again, and she softly extricated her arms from him before she reached out, groping for him in the dark. Her eyes were wide, stubbornly struggling to see in the absolute darkness.

Her questing hands found him again, and she moved them, finding the smooth material of his vest, clutching their seams while she felt his skin beneath her thumbs.

“Let me touch you,” she whispered,” as I shall let you touch _me_.”

He growled low in his chest, and she felt his large, hot hands wrap possessively around her waist as she followed the path of his chest upward until her hands were upon his throat, and upwards still, until she finally, gently cupped his face.

His jaw, to her touch, was as sharp as she had imagined, a manly shape that sent tendrils of delight to run up her spine. Her touch slowly wandered until her thumbs brushed against his lips, and she heard his breath hitch as his hold on her tightened convulsively.

She turned to him fully, leaning closer to him as her hands moved even higher up, until she found her fingers tangled with the thick, smooth strands of his hair. His hair was wild, the strands rising like belligerent flames, and Bulma smiled as she finally understood the shape of fire that seemed to always surround his head.

He too moved his hands, clutching her hair in one fist while the other slipped up to gently hold her face, his thumb running slow circles on her smooth cheek.

She pushed herself closer to him, until she swore she could feel his breath upon her lips, and she spoke, brushing against his mouth. “Shall I grant you a taste of my lips, my Prince?”

He growled again, and she felt his muscular arms pull her impossibly closer as he sealed his mouth over hers, smothering her with a deep, heart-stopping kiss.

His lips slanted across hers as he groaned against her, and she moaned softly, overwhelmed by the feel of him plundering her mouth. His tongue searched her, stealing her breath and giving her his own, and she felt her entire body shake as he hungrily devoured her with desperate intent.

He was harried, frantic… His hands splayed across her back, gently massaging her while he tasted her ardently, and Bulma groped her way down to lay her hands upon his wide chest.

Her hands smoothed greedily across his skin, thumbs shyly ghosting over his nipples, and she let her arms move to hold him under his vest. He pulled away from her, and gently pushed her to lay back upon the bed.

She lay down, holding on to him as he hovered over her body, and she felt him set his knees on either side of her legs while he lowered himself to her, his lips finding hers once again.

His hands were restless, wringing soft moans and gasps from her as he roused the most incredible sensations from her body. She couldn’t see him, but he could see her, and he used this advantage, snapping his touches from her waist, to her hips, to her face… Each sudden caress was a pleasant surprise that left her reeling, wanting, _needing_ more.

She gasped as he broke their kiss, only to trail feather-like kisses along her cheeks, and down her throat. His breath on her neck made the hairs on her body stand on end, and she closed her eyes, sighing in bliss as she felt him begin to suck gently on her skin.

His hands were beneath her breasts, splayed along her ribs, while she kept a tight grip on his back, her nails lightly scratching his skin.

It was as he kissed her neck, laving licks along her collarbone, that something vague and foreign snuck into her mind, and stealthily moved to the tip of her tongue…

“Ve…ge…” she moaned.

Her eyes popped wide in confusion, less than a second before the Prince suddenly pulled away with a loud gasp.

“What?” he asked, out of breath, his tone rife with shock. “What did you say?”

She clutched him tightly, disoriented. “I… I don’t know.”

He moved away from her, and she nearly cried at the loss, her body madly protesting the sudden end to the incredible euphoria.

“Prince,” she called as she sat up, anxious. “I don’t know what I said! Please don’t be angry-”

“I am not angry,” he said, though his voice stated otherwise. “But perhaps, it will be best if I leave, for now.”

“Prince, no-”

“Bulma. Please,” he rasped, and Bulma reeled from the rawness of his tone.

He seemed… confused. Possibly even, frightened.

“I need to go,” he said shakily, and Bulma shielded her eyes as he suddenly burst into brilliant fire.

In a second, he was gone, leaving her alone and confounded, her only companion the light of the stars from beyond her open window.

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued…_


	5. Sweat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma comes to the realization that she wants to truly know the Prince. She offers her entire mind and body to him, and he gifts her something precious in return.  
> Day 5: Hot and Sweaty  
> Chapter Warning: Smut / Explicit Sexual Content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, and I hope you like it!

It was already nearing noon, but Bulma was unable to get up from bed.

She lay huddled in a ball, eyes wide open, while she thought back in consternation about the events of the previous night.

The Prince had kissed her… touched her, and she had felt him, hard and powerful upon her shaky palms, as he moved over her, overwhelmed her beautifully with his strength and fervor.

She had felt his passion… she knew he had more to offer her, more to show her, and she had shuddered in anticipation as she kissed him as ardently as she could, eyes closed as she focused on the feel of him moving over her.

And then… he had stopped.

She was in desperate pain as he suddenly disappeared amidst his flurry of red flames, leaving her confused… hot and bothered, and ridiculously in need of answers.

What… what had she almost said, that had made him run from her so suddenly?

There had been a word on the tip of her tongue, one she could neither understand nor remember, but for some reason, had begun to call out while he was holding her beneath him, making her body feel things that she never had before.

She pushed her blankets back, feeling her sweat begin to bead upon her back again, as she thought of the delight that she had felt with the Prince as he hovered on top of her, pushing slowly against her body.

It was…

 _Delectable_.

It was a pleasant fire that filled her as she found her hands begin to wander, stupidly caressing herself as she recalled the sensations.

She needed him to do that to her again.

And she needed… more.

She had realized that he was the only man who had ever captured her attention so profoundly, never mind the very clear fact that she did not even know how he looked like.

She did not even know his name.

And yet, a very small voice in the back of her mind whispered incessantly that she should… that somehow, she did.

But… that was insane, wasn’t it?

He had never uttered his name to her, and it was not possible to know someone from the mere beating of his heart against hers as they laid in the absolute darkness.

It was not possible for her to know him at all.

Why then, did she need him with her?

Could he have enchanted her? After all, what power would a mere mortal have against a god, if he were to put his mind into seducing her?

She should hate him for taking her away from all that she knew, and yet, she felt no resentment.

Could it be, then, that she had been fated to belong to the Prince?

She had never been one to believe in the old tales: of a woman being destined for a particular man, who would be the only one to fill her with happiness for the rest of eternity. And the Prince was not even a man, was he?  

None of it made sense!

Her belly grumbled angrily at her, demanding sustenance, and she finally stood up from her bed to make her way into the kitchen. Maybe, all she needed was food, and then her mind would surely clear up.

She thought of Tights, her dearest sister and confidant, and wished desperately to have a way to talk to her, to ask for her opinion. Tights had always been so much smarter than her when it came to matters of practicality. It was something that Bulma had always been ill-equipped with, what with her head always being in the clouds or between the turning gears of her machines.

She sat down on her solitary dining area, and wished for a meager meal of porridge. She did not think that her roiling guts could handle anything more complex, and she didn’t truly _want_ to eat.

After her lunch, Bulma went into the large hall where her study equipment had all been relegated, and turned to the small gadget that she had begun working on before the pestilence had even reached its peak.

She had always been nervous around the dark, and as the drought had worsened, it seemed as if the sun itself had begun to refuse to shine. Bulma had started to fashion a small implement, as long as a pen and about as thick as her wrist, that would emit a small spot of light should she ever find herself in darkness. It was a portable lighting machine, and she kept working on it still; the palace walls were high, and some places, even in the daytime, were darker than the others.

She spent her afternoon alone with her small machines and books, and as twilight neared, she finally stood up, stretched, and headed into her bath. She really needed to relax, and a soak in her tub would do wonders for her, she knew.

At the very least, the scents of her soaps would make her mind simmer down, and she really wanted to stop thinking… to get rid of her doubts, even for a short while.

8-8-8-8-8

She had been asleep for perhaps a few minutes only, when she felt the tell-tale pulse of the Prince’s arrival.

She sat up in bed, smoothing down her sleeping gown as she pulled her blankets up to her chest.

The darkness had already settled, but Bulma could hear the Prince’s soft footsteps, coming closer, slow and deliberate, echoing softly within her room.

Her bed dipped to her right, as always, and she felt the heat of his skin radiating towards her while he sat, unmoving, beside her.

He did not move to take her hand as he had usually done the past few nights, and Bulma turned hesitantly towards him, her brows furrowed as she debated with herself about what to say first.

Should she ask him why he left? Or greet him a good evening, and pretend as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened?

Should she search for him in the dark, reaching out to grasp him in her blindness, using only the sound of his breathing as her beacon to find him?

She was still contemplating on what to do, when the Prince made the first move, solemnly closing his hand over hers, pressing it gently into the mattress before he picked it up to gently play with her fingers.

“Did you have a good day today, Bulma?” he asked.

She gulped, pressing her free hand to her chest, momentarily forgetting that while she could not see him, he could clearly see her.

“Is something the matter?” he asked, and she felt his other hand reach over to grasp her arm, close to where she had laid her hand over herself. “Why does your heart beat so quickly?”

She cast around for something to say, her tongue licking her lips as she found that her mouth had dried from her sudden nervousness.

“Bulma,” he called again. “Say something.”

His voice sounded conflicted, perhaps just as much as she was, and before she could say anything, she felt a single tear begin to fall from her eye.

“Prince,” she began, but was unable to speak as he had suddenly lunged forward to crush her against him in an impulsive embrace.

She sobbed lightly as her arms lifted to wrap around his waist, laying her palms against his back as she buried her face in his chest.

“Do you fear me now?” he asked, his voice close to her ear, and Bulma could swear that she could feel his lips upon her hair. “Did my actions from yesterday… was I too forceful and abrupt?”

She shook her head, breathing harshly against him as she took in large gulps of air. “No… it was me, wasn’t it? I was the problem.”

“No, no. It was not,” he answered, pulling back enough to still hold her warmly while he brushed her hair back from her face, before cupping her cheek in his palm.

“I’m sorry, Prince,” she said. “I said something that made you angry… I don’t know what I said, but I’m sorry-”

“Do not be,” he shushed, holding her close, stroking her back as he gently rocked her back and forth. “It was, possibly my fault. I had been careless.”

She pulled away, reaching upwards, searching for his face in the darkness so she can hold him in her hands. When her fingers found him, she cupped his cheeks, and she stared above her into the dark nothingness, hoping that she was looking into his eyes as she spoke, “Will you hold me again? Let me know that everything is alright?”

“I should not-”

“I offer you my _everything_ , Prince,” she whispered, straining against him as she tried desperately to keep him with her. “Let me be your true bride.”

“You do not understand what you are asking of me…”

“I understand,” she insisted, pushing herself closer to him. “I need to know you. I wish to know my husband.”

He held her tighter, and Bulma gasped, her hands roaming his back, his sides, delighting in the thick, corded muscles that she felt beneath her fingertips, the thought of them undulating beneath her touch exciting her far more than she ever thought possible.

“Bulma,” he murmured as he let his lips hover near her ear as his breaths blew hotly against her neck, the warmth of it making her entire body melt into his arms. “I wish to have you… to make you mine…”

“Then claim me,” she whispered hoarsely. She pulled back, feeling the blood rush madly to her cheeks at the thought of what she was about to do. She steeled herself, however, and with some difficulty, she pulled at her nightdress until it was over her head and off her body, leaving her mostly nude.

She knew her body, knew that she was physically attractive, but the thought of being bare before a man made her nervous still. Her heart beat madly in her chest as she heard him suck in a gasp, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to stop shuddering, to let her inexplicable need for him manifest in her now outstretched hands.

“Hold me,” she begged, and she felt him move closer, his hands smoothing along her arms until he held her sides in his grasp.

He soothed his thumbs on her belly, holding the curve of her waist in his hands. He said nothing, but she heard his breaths become deeper, faster, and she could feel the heat of his body moving closer to her as his touch flexed against her gently.

“Mine,” he finally said, and Bulma gasped a moment before she felt his mouth cover hers, taking her words and drinking her passion from her lips.

She moaned softly as his touch moved higher, holding her ribs as he pushed her flat against the bed once more, the same way that he had the night before. Bulma smiled against his lips as she felt him shifting, and when she raised her hands to his chest, she realized that the vest that he always wore was no longer there.

Her hands mapped his body, taking purchase upon his hard chest while his touch lingered beneath her bosoms, and she kept her eyes closed, relishing the sensations when he began to cup her breasts in his hands.

“Ahhh… Prince,” she whispered when he pulled away from their kiss, taking a quick gulp of air before she leaned up, her lips searching for him and finding his cheek.

His hands were becoming more insistent, as one moved to hold her down by her hip while the other worked her, his fingers passing gently over her nipple, coaxing it to peak beneath his touch.

His lips were on her neck, licking and nipping her throat, and she purred softly when he sucked on her skin while his fingers wreaked havoc through her senses.

The Prince moved against her slowly, and Bulma realized that she could now feel his bare legs moving between her own, and she realized with a start that he must have dematerialized his clothing as easily as he could make her wishes just appear within the confines of their palace.

“Bulma,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse. She felt his hand on her lower stomach, gently rubbing her abdomen while he trekked downward, caressing her bare hip.

His mouth was now on her chest, kissing her, loving her skin, before she felt his hot breath blowing over the peak of her breast, making her keen softly in anticipation.

“Please,” she whined, her hands clutching convulsively at his powerful arms, before she snaked them around him to hold him, letting her hands caress his back before her fingers delved into his thick hair.

Something warm, wet and soft flicked gently over her nipple, making Bulma gasp before a tiny moan escaped her. Her eyes popped open, staring into the dark nothingness above her as he took her breast into his mouth, his teeth gently scraping over her sensitive skin, making her arch towards him to press more of herself into his touch.

She felt him clutch her beneath her thigh, lifting her leg to hold her against his hip. He stopped kissing her breasts to move up, and she panted softly as she felt his breaths wash over her cheeks before he kissed her once more.

His tongue was in her mouth, roughly seeking her with his lips, and Bulma groaned when she felt him rub himself against her, his body rigid against the softness of her lower lips.

He hissed before quickly pulling away, and she felt him lean his forehead on hers while his hand wandered down to cup her core; a single, sly finger dipping into her, making her cry out in surprised delight.

“Prince!” she called again, her body unsure of how to move when he began to enter her with his finger, while she felt another digit nudge gently against something that made her jump with a pleasured gasp.

It was as if all the sensations were focused within that tiny spot on her core, and Bulma cried out, jaw slack as she held onto him; hot and sweaty and oh, so deliciously powerful in her hands.

She began to shake, her body reacting in a way she could not control, and she shuddered against him as his hands rubbed her core in quick, small circles. She felt her lust begin to flow down her inner thighs, coating his hand as he fanned her desire.

She cried out helplessly as a wave of incredible euphoria crashed over her, stealing her breath from her as she could do nothing but claw wildly at his skin while he groaned against her, until he pulled his hand away, only to pull her hips up, his hands resting beneath her buttocks.

Bulma felt her blood rushing to her cheeks as her arms slipped from around him and fell to the bed at her sides. It was rather humiliating, as she could only imagine what she must look like, hips lifted as such and completely naked and open before his eyes.

He felt him move ever closer, his hips against hers as his hardness teased her core once again, and Bulma moaned when he slid himself against her, up and down, torturously slow… making her forget her embarrassment with her nudity, driving her utterly mad with want.

“Please!” she cried, “Please…”

She heard him chuckle darkly before he pulled her legs to wrap around his narrow hips, her ankles resting above his firm buttocks as he moved over her. She felt his arms beside her, bracing himself above her while one hand brushed her hair back from her face, cupping her cheek before he pulled her into another kiss.

This kiss was light… gentle and soothing, slow and sweet, and Bulma felt herself melt into him as he coaxed her to relax, while he slowly moved until he was pressed snugly against her. Her arms found him again, tracing the contours of his sculpted abdomen, the dips and muscles along his sides. Her hands climbed up to rest upon his back, her fingers spreading wide in a greedy effort to touch as much of him as she possibly can.

When she felt him nudge into her, she stiffened slightly, closing her eyes to lose herself in his lips. Her heart was pounding so strongly in her chest as she felt him delve in, and she hissed into his mouth when he began to breach her, knowing well to expect the pain upon her deflowering.

He stopped kissing her lips then, moving to trail tiny kisses along her jaw until he was breathing into her ear. “Do not fear, my bride. You will feel no pain. Only pleasure…”

She pulled him tight against her as she felt him push… deeper, deeper into her body, and she felt the exquisite throb of him inside her as his hips met her hips, his body molded perfectly to hers as they both held still for a single, quiet moment.

It wasn’t long before she felt him pull back, only to thrust back into her, and Bulma yelped in shock as the most unbelievable rhapsody seized her, making her entire body quake in desire, her mind made blank by the feel of him above her… inside her.

Soon, she was writhing against him as he thrust powerfully into her, his hands moving everywhere, the darkness making his every move unpredictable and yet wholly wonderful.

She clawed at his back, clutched possessively at his hard buttocks, while he pounded relentlessly, reaching places inside her that sent her careening over the edge before sending her back to him, to enslave with his pleasure once again.

Bulma was moaning uncontrollably… screaming, her breaths sobbing out of her mouth while she tried in vain to take shallow breaths.

She threw her head back, body strung tight and ready to fall, when she heard him whispering into her ear. She tried to grasp her focus to listen, to comprehend the words he was trying to say.

Her eyes widened when she understood…

“Say my name,” he growled, pushing harder into her.

Bulma shook, disoriented as the confusion she felt from his words were blanketed by a fog caused by the sensations he made spiral through her body.

“Wha- what?” she asked, moaning when she felt his hot breath over her breast, making her arch towards him, wanting to feel more.

“Say my name, Bulma,” he commanded.

She groaned when she felt his mouth cover her nipple while his hands roamed relentlessly over her slick skin, and she couldn’t breathe… couldn’t think…

“I don’t- ah!” she gasped, holding on tighter to him, her fingers tangling in his hair. “I don’t know…”

“You do…” he said, “You know…”

“Ah… Prince!”

“My name, Bulma!” he said as he moved even faster within her, drowning her in sensation, before breathing life into her with his lips over hers.

She kissed him back eagerly, her tongue finding his, twining with it as deeply as their bodies were entangled.

Bulma keened loudly as he pulled away, only to feel his hands grasp her hips almost roughly, plunging into her so deeply, his body so hot and hard within her…

She tried to think, but he felt too good… she can’t…

He leaned down, rubbing sensuously against her as she felt him pull lightly at strands of her hair, his breath hot against her ear as he buried his face into her neck.

“Bulma…” he said, thrusting into her deeply to punctuate his next words. “Say. My. Name!”

White-hot pleasure washed over her, and while she shuddered, a ghostly voice whispered quietly in her mind… a single, strange word that she did not know the meaning of, and yet…

“Ve-” she began, breaking off into a gasp when he plunged powerfully into her, commanding her body with his own.

“Say it, Bulma!”

“Ve… ge…”

“Yes!” he cried out, gasping against her as he pulled her closer, his arms so tight around her now that she felt like he was trying to merge them into one.

“Ah… ah!” she gasped, before he kissed her, pouring his desire into her, and as he pulled away to run his fangs along her throat, a strange fog lifted within her mind, and the strange word suddenly began to make sense…

His name…

“Ve-Vege…” she moaned, before she clawed at him with a hoarse shout… “Vegeta!”

“Bulma!” he exclaimed as he thrust faster, harder, deeper within her still, his hands sending magical tendrils of ecstasy throughout her body and soul as she convulsed…

“Vegeta! Oh… Vegeta… My Prince,” she moaned, before her eyes popped wide as she reached a yet unattained peak, and she screamed hoarsely, singing his name to the skies…

She felt him shudder against her then, stilling above her for a few moments, before he slumped down, falling bonelessly upon her body while his shaky breaths shook his entire form.

They stayed silent, Bulma running her fingers up and down his spine while his fingers pulled gently at the strands of her hair, gently caressing her arms before he moved off her.

She feared that he would leave, now that it was over, but she sighed in relief when she felt the bed sag against his weight as he laid down beside her.

He gathered her in his arms, silently sighing her name as he pulled her to rest against his chest, his lips leaving a gentle kiss on her hair while she softly whispered his name against his still rioting heartbeats.

It was not long until his gentle, soothing touches lulled Bulma to sleep, and she smiled…

His name, that he had somehow entrusted her with, was the last word on her lips before she succumbed to slumber.

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued…_


	6. Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Passions rise between Bulma and Vegeta, and they cannot get enough of each other. Yet, though their physical joinings are intense, Bulma soon realizes that a part of her wants something... more.
> 
> Day 6: Use Your Teeth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!  
> So, the week of the smutfest is over, and finally, here is my Day 6 entry! A bit of warning, for gratuitous sex scenes, lol!  
> I hope you like it!

“Vegeta!”

Bulma moaned loudly as she felt his lips close over her core, his tongue darting out to take a taste of her while his hands cupped her buttocks, pulling her closer to his eager mouth

She writhed desperately, gravitating towards his heat, but his powerful grip kept her pinned down beneath him as he lapped at her, his movements growing increasingly hungrier as her voice soared higher with her pleasure.

“Vegeta! Please!” she cried, hands fisting into the sheets as she desperately held on to the sensations, her sweat making her skin stick to the satin cloth of her parted robe.

His fingers joined his mouth as he devoured her, gently twirling inside her as she sobbed helplessly, reaching… climbing…

She felt his teeth nudge gently against the bud of her pleasure, and with a shriek, she convulsed, soaring to her peak before violently crashing back down, his name once again in broken bits that left her lips in a reverent prayer.

As she shook in the aftermath of her release, Bulma felt Vegeta move closer, gathering her into his arms before he pulled her leg up to his hip, opening her to him as he slowly began to enter her.

She heard him groan loudly as he delightfully besieged her. Her hands smoothed over his arms, her fingers squeezing the hard muscles that strained as he held himself above her.

“Yes,” he hissed, making Bulma mewl as he quickly pumped in and out of her, rolling his hips against hers before he silenced both of their cries with his mouth on hers.

She kissed him back eagerly, tasting his essence while he plundered her body, and Bulma snaked her arms around him, holding on, her nails scouring along his back as her ardor made her almost feral.

She moved with him, undulating her hips to meet his every thrust, and she felt him palm her breast before she felt him nip harshly at her jaw, using his teeth, the very slight pain adding an intoxicating contrast to the delicious shudders taking over her every sense…

Being taken by Vegeta, in the absolute blackness of their nights, gave her an incredible sensory overload that she never, ever, wanted to recover from.

All too soon, Bulma felt herself cresting once again, and she wrenched her lips from his to pant heavily in his ear, her fingers pulling at the thick strands of his hair as she clutched him as tightly as she could.

“Bulma,” he groaned, thrusting faster within her, shuddering bodily, his every muscle straining against her as he chased his pleasure while building her own.

“I’m… I’m… oh! Vegeta,” she moaned, breathing in the delectable scent of his skin.

A delicious twist of his hips made her passion erupt, and she opened her mouth in a silent cry as she climaxed around him, shaking uncontrollably while he kept forcefully pounding into her body.

She tried her best to keep meeting his thrusts while she trembled in his arms, listening as his growls grew louder against her, vibrating through her body and making her writhe with him.

With a last grunt, he grew still above her, and she felt his fingers fumble on her sides as he dove deeply within her body, riding out his euphoria as he softly gasped her name.

Vegeta then rolled off her, pulling her to him, and she felt his hands pull her robe to cover her before he held her in his arms again, shielding her from the chilly night air.

Bulma snuggled against him, listening to the beating of his heart as she laid her cheek against his chest. She lifted a hand to lay it on his stomach, gently tracing the contours of his abdomen before breathing him in with a sigh.

The more she stayed with him like this, the closer she felt to him, and she realized that the smell of his skin reminded her of a simple past memory that had always filled her with happiness.

“Flowers…” she whispered, and she felt him shift, the movement of his chin atop her head letting her know that he was peering down at her.

“What did you say?” he murmured, his fingers trailing leisurely along her spine, making her shiver.

“Flowers,” she said, a little more loudly. “You remind me of the flowers.”

He huffed, and Bulma chuckled when she felt his hold shift to tighten around her.

“Woman, surely you do not mean to imply that I smell like feminine plantlife,” he groused.

“I did not mean to imply anything bad-”

“Did I not just _exhibit_ to you,” he began, a mischievous leer in his voice, “how much of a _man_ I am?”

She giggled, playfully slapping his chest. “Yes, my Prince. I know very well that you are a man.”

“Then what are you yammering about-”

“What I meant,” she explained, “was that… your scent reminds me of… happier memories, back when I used to smell the flowers.”

“Explain.”

“My mother, before she…” Bulma gulped, a painful lump lodging in her throat. “Before she died… she had a garden of yellow bell flowers in our yard. She used to have me sit near her so she can watch over me while she tended to her garden.”

“And this memory,” Vegeta ventured, “it makes you feel… happy?”

She nodded against him, closing her eyes to take another deep whiff. “It does. As do you.”

She felt his touches drift across her skin again, until it reached her face, where he tilted her head up by her chin.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded softly.

She did, and what she found made her breath hitch in her chest...

Bulma refused to get her hopes up, but she could swear that, though the darkness remained thick, it seemed as if it was not the usual, all-encompassing obsidian shadows that she had gotten used to whenever Vegeta was with her.

Instead, for but a moment, she thought she could see a tiny hint of grey, and she strained her eyes, willing them to see…

She felt sure that she saw an outline of him in the midst of the darkness, a man with a strong jaw topped by flame-like waves of black hair, with wide shoulders and thick arms that wrapped possessively around her…

Bulma felt her heart beat loudly, erratically, her eyes tearing with disbelief and excitement.

Could it be…?

It was such a fleeting glimpse, that it left her uncertain if what she saw had been real, or a mere figment of her imagination. Yet, somehow, she was utterly convinced that she had _seen_ him.

She had seen Vegeta…

“Bulma,” he spoke, breaking her out of her trance-like giddiness as the vivid darkness swallowed her up once again.

“Ve-Vegeta?” she called, voice hoarse, inexplicable emotion running through her veins, as exhilarating as his sensual touches.

He cleared his throat, and she felt him move to stroke her cheek. “I am aware, that this isolation is difficult. Do not… do not try to lull yourself into happiness, where there is none to be found.”

She gasped softly, affronted. “Don’t you dare tell me how I should feel,” she said. “I am not placing myself under false delusions.”

“Woman-”

“Prince. Listen to me,” she interrupted. “I admit, that it is lonely. But I have always been content to be with no one but myself. While I dearly miss my sister and my father, your being here with me, even only for my nights… I am content with that.”

His fingers tangled in her hair, and she felt Vegeta tilt her head back before he gave her a soft kiss. She eagerly reciprocated, humming into his mouth when he parted his lips to let her in.

Their kiss was slow, languid, unhurried… and so, Bulma giggled when he suddenly growled and turned over to pin her beneath him, ready to ravish her once again.

8-8-8-8-8

Due to her late night escapades with Vegeta, Bulma had taken to sleeping in until the early afternoons, so she could stay alert for the whole evening and well into the early morning hours. She felt like an owl, but with no one around to know about it, she figured, it didn’t really matter.

She had just walked into her study room when she saw something strange; a large lump covered in white cloth, sitting right on top of her main work table.

Curious, she entered, slowly approaching whatever it was. She was sure that she had not left anything there, and was confused about what the lump could possibly be.

Could it be from Vegeta?

Hesitantly, she moved forward, quickly poking the lump to see if it would move.

Nothing.

Gingerly, Bulma pinched one edge of the cloth between two fingers, carefully lifting it to peer inside.

Delicate yellow petals peeked out at her from beneath the cloth, and with an excited gasp, she pulled the cloth off, a wide smile on her lips as her heart beat excitedly, a giddy sensation running through her as she moved to touch the gift.

Yellow bell flowers, so similar to the ones that her mother had tended when she was alive, now sat cheerfully on her work table, their leaves and stems tied together with a simple string.

Happy tears sprung into the edges of her eyes as she picked them up, hugging them to her chest, taking in the gentle scent of the fresh flowers that were still wet with residual dew.

Vegeta… She couldn’t believe that he remembered. It had been a few days since she told him about the flowers, and she did not think he would have even taken note of her little anecdote.

And yet, there they were, bright and lively in her arms, a small token of the outside world that she could not reach beyond the otherworldly barriers of her palace’s gates.

She looked around, searching for a receptacle that could act as a vase, before she remembered that she could just _wish_ for one. She could have smacked herself.

She closed her eyes, wishing for a light blue vase, and once she had it in front of her, she carefully placed Vegeta’s gift into it, before racing out to fetch water for the flowers.

All afternoon, Bulma could barely work, her eyes repeatedly wandering over to the flower vase, distracting her from finishing the small lighting implement that she had been working on.

She couldn’t remember ever having been happier.

8-8-8-8-8

The sensation of fingers gently brushing her hair back from her face, woke her from sleep.

She smiled before she opened her eyes, rubbing the sleep from them as she slowly sat up.

“Hello, Prince,” she greeted. “How was your day?”

“The usual,” he said. “Death and destruction. And you?”

“Oh it was lovely,” she answered. “A secret admirer left flowers for me in my study room, can you believe it?”

He chuckled, and she felt him move so that he was fully seated on the bed. She scooted over to make space for him, smiling widely in his direction.

She heard the amused note in his voice as he spoke. “Truly? Is there someone competing with me, for the attentions of my bride? Did he leave a message as to who he is?”

“No. Perhaps he was struck speechless by the sight of my beauty,” she joked, flipping her hair to the side.

“Indeed,” He scoffed dryly. “I would bet that he is a goblin. You seem to attract various creatures, especially those who dwell in the underworld.”

“I could be hell’s muse,” she said, before she laughed loudly. The sound of Vegeta’s chuckles rang with hers, and she reached out to find his hand in the darkness.

He met her searching hand with his, and she smiled as she carefully linked their fingers together, her palm against his.

“Seriously though… thank you so much for the flowers,” she said. “They were lovely. I placed them on the table to the left.”

“I see them,” he said, “and I am glad that you liked them.”

“Where did you even find them?” she asked. “I have not seen these bell flowers since the ones in my mother’s garden wilted.”

“You have not visited far beyond your town. There are several, a continent away.”

“Aw,” she gushed. “You went to a different continent just to find my flowers?”

He snickered. “Woman, I travel through _dimensions_ daily, to be with you each night.”

His words, said with a near-careless air, gave Bulma pause, and she coughed softly into her hand, clearing her throat as she felt herself fluster. That had been… strangely sweet.

How she could still act so shyly around him, after all that they had done, was frankly ridiculous. However, Bulma knew that she was still rather insecure, because though she had been offered to him and had, herself, acknowledged that he was now her husband, there was one thing that _he_ had never said quite yet…

Vegeta had never yet, called her his wife.

He had called her his earthly bride, but the word “wife” had never been spoken, and a small part of her lamented the fact. To her, not being called as such made her feel more of a concubine, as the words “bride” and “wife”, to her, had completely different connotations.

 _Bride,_ just reminded her that in truth, she was nothing but a sacrifice to appease  an angry God.

A _wife_ , was different.

A _wife…_ was _loved…_

She knew that she needed to stop such a line of thinking, and she shook her head to clear it, deciding to slightly change the subject.

With a bright, but decidedly false grin, she spoke, “Tights would have been so excited to see them. She always loved those flowers, but neither of us knew how to take care of them, did not have the will to keep them alive, after what had happened.”

“Tights…your sister?” he asked. “I have seen her before. The one with gold hair.”

Yes,” she nodded. “My elder sister.”

He was silent for a short while, and if not for his hand still holding her, she would have thought that he had left.

When he spoke again, his voice was filled with doubt. “You miss her?”

“Well, of course,” she answered. “She is my sister and best friend, and I really miss having her around.”

“Have you been terribly lonely here?” he asked. “Would you wish to see her?”

Bulma straightened, her mouth gaping slightly in her surprise. Of all the things he could have said, that was the last thing that she had expected.

“M- May I?” she stuttered.

“I will… consider it.”

Unparalleled glee filled her, and she almost refused to believe… “Really?”

“Yes,” he affirmed, and Bulma shrieked, throwing her arms wildly around to find and hug him while he struggled to get his next words out. “But I am not guaranteeing it, do you hear me?”

“Yes! Thank you, thank you!” she exclaimed, happily squeezing his head – the first thing she had managed to grab when she blindly flailed about.

“Woman, release me,” he grouched, words muffled by her breasts smothering his face.

Bulma was too happy, too excited, and with a final squeeze, she let go, sitting back down onto the bed with a wide smile.

There was a moment of silence before she heard Vegeta’s breath catch, but before she could ask what had happened, she felt his warm hand on her face; his palm cupping her jaw while his fingers slowly smoothed over her cheek. She leaned contentedly into his touch, closing her eyes as she relished the gentle sensation.

She felt him shift closer, and his breath washed over her face before his lips met hers. She sighed, melting into him completely; anticipating the moment when his kiss would turn a bit rougher, as his hands begin to palm her body. After all, all of their encounters have started in such a way.

Yet… all he did was kiss her, barely even entering her mouth as his tongue leisurely tasted her lips, the warm comfort of his hands lingering on her face and twining with her hair.

Bulma clenched her eyes, leaning towards Vegeta and reaching out to wrap her arms around his narrow waist. He stayed unmoving, slowly kissing her, relishing her, and she hummed in pleasure as she finally relaxed into his hold, letting him continue his gentle exploration.

Soon, she was breathless, flushed from his attentions, and she mewled softly before pushing closer, her hands slowly moving to hold the sides of his vest. Tentatively, she began to push it back, her hands tracing a path along his pectorals to his upper arms, dragging the silky material with her thumbs. He finally obliged, moving to shrug the vest off, and Bulma smiled once more into their kiss when she felt him crush her tightly within his arms, his hands clasping her, fingers spread across her back as he slowly guided her to lay down on the bed.

Bulma didn’t need much more than his passionate kisses to be ready for him. After what seemed like just a moment, they were both naked, their skin sliding along each other’s as his hands found her core.

Before she knew it, he was in her, moving deeply and languidly within her warmth. She breathed deeply of his skin, using her teeth to clamp gently onto his flesh as his slow movements against her aroused wondrous sensations that she had never before felt, not even in all of their previous moments together.

“Vegeta,” she whispered, feverish with need, overwhelmed with the beauty of his soft touches. “Vegeta, please…”

He growled in response, filling her completely, and she felt his hands stake their claim, holding as much of her as he could while his body shuddered in sync with her own.

She moaned, tilting her head back against her pillows, and she felt his tongue lave her throat before a single, guttural word spilled from his lips…

“Mine,” he muttered against her flesh, his sharp teeth trailing suggestively along her neck. “You are mine, Bulma.”

“Yes, always,” she whispered, before she groaned, arching towards him to meet his every thrust, every sensual roll of his hips.

“No one,” he panted, “Will ever have you…”

She felt him nip her, a pointed sting that made her eyes pop open as she cried out, her arms shaking from their grip around him.

“No other, shall ever touch you with lust,” he vowed, his movements hastening, taking them to the edge… “ _Mine!”_

“Yours, my Prince… Yours!”

Throughout that night, Vegeta relentlessly held her, took her, until her voice was hoarse from screaming his name and her limbs trembled from exhausted rhapsody...

And in the morning, when Bulma woke, she could swear that she felt Vegeta there still, lingering in the back of her mind, his touches echoing from the tiny, healing bite mark that he had left on the side of her neck.

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued…_


	7. Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma is overjoyed when Tights is allowed to visit, but what started as a happy reunion turns sour as Bulma is forced to face painful truths. She turns to Vegeta, but with the doubts festering in her mind, she finds that the comfort she feels from his arms may not be as everlasting as she would have desired. 
> 
> Day 7: Soaked Panties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again everyone! I am sorry for taking so long with this update! I hope you like it!  
> Oh and of course, smut ahead! :)

Bulma could not believe her ears.

A few nights after Vegeta had mentioned the possibility of considering letting her see Tights, he had made a decision.

She stared open-mouthed into the darkness, her hand frozen on the center of his chest, which she had been languidly caressing a few moments before. Her breaths, which she had not yet quite calmed after another night spent writhing beneath Vegeta, grew even shallower, and she nearly choked on the thick lump of air that had caught in her throat.

“You… you mean it?” she asked. “You really mean it?”

He merely scoffed, before his hand covered hers, laying her palm flat upon his skin, above his rapidly beating heart. He let her thumb brush his nipple as he hummed in confirmation, before he lifted her hand to brush his lips against her fingers.

“I would not dare dangle such a thing before you, only to later call it a jest,” he said. “Yes, I meant it. You may see your sister.”

She felt a happy sob build in her chest, speechless for once in her life. Tiny tears of happiness gathered in her eyes as she sat up, bracing herself against the bed so that she leaned over him. Her free hand wandered, blindly reaching up until she held his jaw, the pads of her fingers delicately running over his smooth skin as she tried not to choke on her gratitude.

“Th-thank you,” she whispered, before she moved down, her lips searching for his so she can kiss him, unbelievably delighted at being granted such a concession. “Thank you so much…”

“Do not thank me just yet, I do not permit you to leave the palace to meet with her,” he murmured against her mouth. He pushed her back until she hovered above him, where his air washed across her cheeks. “Your meeting will be held within these grounds, and she will be brought here by one of my men. I shall send her a note that you would write by your hand, instructing her to head into the forest where my minions can fetch her, to take her here.”

“I understand,” she answered, moving back down to lay her head against him, resting in the crook of his shoulder. “When may I have her brought here?”

“Anytime you wish, from tomorrow,” he answered. “Let me know, and I will see it arranged.”

Bulma felt light, excited, and her naughty mind conjured up things that she wanted to do to _show_ her gratitude. She felt her blood rush to her cheeks, and she giggled, burying her face against him.

She felt him nudge her slightly with his arm. “Woman, do you find something funny?” he asked.

She shook her head, a wide grin stretching her lips. “Not at all, but I was thinking…”

“What?”

She shifted until she held his face, moving her lips up his throat until she met the sharp curve of his jaw. “I was just thinking about how my godly Prince would like for me to show my… _appreciation_ ,” she murmured before her tongue darted out to teasingly sample his skin, “for his benevolence. _”_

Her hand wandered down his chest, smoothing over his abdomen, until she boldly cupped his manhood, her fingers wrapping around the quickly hardening flesh.

He chuckled darkly, his warm touch moving to hold her hip before he suddenly lunged, making her squeal as he firmly pressed her back onto the bed.

“Such a vulgar mortal woman,” he purred, before his mouth covered hers, silencing any other words and thoughts until dawn broke out once again.

8-8-8-8-8

The palace was absolutely spotless.

She had never been a very tidy person; Bulma was rather scatter-brained when it came to her belongings, if she were to be honest. However, now that she was going to have her sister over, her first visitor in _months,_ she was determined to show Tights her home at its most beautiful.

It had been three nights since Vegeta had confirmed his agreement to let Tights visit, and just the previous evening, Bulma had given him the handwritten note, asking Tights to visit her on the following day.

It had been a simple letter: “ _Tights, this is Bulma, and I want you to know that I am doing well. However, I wish to see you, and the Prince has given me permission to have you come to our home. Tomorrow, please go to the small brook near the edge of the forest, an hour after dawn. His people will come and give you further instructions, and they will take you to me._ ”

Tights would no doubt be suspicious, and to make sure that she believed that the letter was truly from her, Bulma drew a small orb with four little stars inside it. It had been an inside joke between the sisters since they were little, and Bulma knew that her elder sister would undoubtedly recognize it.

She regarded the blooms of the yellow bell flowers that she had planted into the garden. While she already had the growing plants, Vegeta had taken to bringing her a small bouquet of them whenever the ones she had began to wilt. A fresh batch now sat, watered and bright, on a table in the center of her main living room.

She ran around to make sure that her visiting areas were filled with the most expensive ivory and silver, that the kitchen was stocked with all the essential utensils. She needed to let Tights know what she was _happy,_ that she was not being abused as she was sure that Tights thought her to be.

Bulma knew that her sister, golden-haired spit-fire that she was, must have been worried about her well-being. She could still remember how she had screamed in desperate fury as Bulma was taken away to be offered up to Vegeta. She would not even be surprised, if Tights had thought her to be dead by now.

Her main concern was to make sure that Tights knew that she was fine… that she was going to be fine, because Vegeta was taking care of her.

“Tomorrow,” Bulma mused as she meticulously scanned her garden, thinking of what else she could add. “I’m going to see Tights tomorrow!”

She was anxious, giddy, and she needed to ground herself before she exploded from all the pent-up tension.

Pivoting on the balls of her feet, Bulma headed back into her makeshift lab, and turned her attention to a few of her ongoing inventions. She picked up her favorite one, her lighting machine, and clicked on the power button to see once again if the light was igniting in the center of the tool. It was almost done, just needed a few little tweaks so that the light would shine outward and into a beam, instead of being a small concentrated ball behind the rounded glass edge.

She sat on her desk, and got to work.

8-8-8-8-8

“Tights!” Bulma screamed as soon as she saw the small spark in the center of her living room. She knew that flames and lightning heralded the opening of the Saiyajin portals, the same one that would bring her sister into her living quarters on the day of her visit.  She stood, practically bouncing, her face red from glee as the light began to form, before materializing into the shape of her beloved sister.

The blonde stood, clearly still reeling from the teleportation, but Bulma was too excited to even think of the nausea that followed the travel. She launched herself at Tights, almost sending them both tumbling down, but Tights stood her ground as she dazedly caught Bulma, a wide grin on her face as tears began to fall from her eyes.

“Bulma,” Tights exclaimed, “Bulma! It’s really you!”

Bulma just nodded as she laughed, pulling back from her sister to look at her through the wetness in her own eyes. Tights looked just as Bulma remembered, and she began to sob, burying her face back onto her older sister’s shoulder.

The two stood crying with each other for several minutes, until Tights finally pulled back, looking around the large living room. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands as she looked back at Bulma, then said, “This is quite a house you have here, sister.”

Bulma giggled. “Yes, it is large. I have lived here since The Prince took me away, after the gifting.”

“Truly?” Tights asked. “So… the demon… he has been providing for you?”

She nodded, gesturing around the place. “He has given me every material thing I have asked for. But it is quite lonely here, Tights.”

“Does the demon not keep you company?”

“He does, but only at night,” Bulma responded, making Tights’ eyes widen in horror.

“At night…” she whispered, voice heavy with dread. “You mean… to… to defile you each night?”

“No!” Bulma said, taking her sister’s hand and leading her to sit on the nearby couch. “No, nothing like that.”

“Then, what?” Tights asked. “You expect me to believe that he does not… harm you?”

Bulma nodded. “Yes. Because he has never harmed me. Never disrespected or… or abused me. He has been very kind to me, Tights.”

“That is impossible, isn’t it?” Tights asked. “For a demon to be accommodating to you-”

“The _Prince_ ,” Bulma stressed, not liking the sound of the word “demon” in reference to Vegeta. “The Prince has treated me well. It is by his kindness that I was even allowed to have you visit.”

“I will admit,” Tights said, “That when I was first read your note, I thought it to be a forgery. But I saw the four-star ball, and so decided to take the chance in case it was really you. I had been so worried! At times I feared that you would have been dead by now.”

“I know. But you do not need to worry about me,” Bulma reassured her, laying a hand over her sister’s trembling fingers. “I have been fine. The Prince has been taking care of me. He has… he has shown me affection and I trust him to continue doing so.”

She took Tights’ hand, and began to pull her through the long halls, proudly showing off her large bedroom, her makeshift laboratory, as well as all the little decorations that she has brought in that reminded her of home. Bulma showed off her garden, bouncing with glee as Tights ran excitedly towards the bell flowers, and the two talked about everything that had been happening beyond the walls of Bulma’s palace.

They feasted on the most delicious meals, flounced like children in the gardens, and as the night began to take over, both sat, exhausted and happy, on the large chairs in the main room. Bulma’s bouquet of yellow-bells sat on the table before them as the sisters chatted, conscious of the darkening skies, knowing that they had mere minutes left before Tights was taken back to her home, and neither knew if they would ever have this chance to speak, ever again.

It was as Bulma played idly with one of the petals on her bouquet that Tights quietly spoke, her words almost ominous in the thickening silence.

“You love him.”

Bulma’s head shot up, eyes wide, mouth falling open and closed with no sound seeping out. She felt her cheeks drain of blood, and she brought both hands up to her chest, wordlessly shaking her head in denial.

 “No,” she denied. “No, I don’t. I cannot possibly-”

“Don’t lie to me… or to yourself, Bulma,” Tights cut her off. “You speak of him as a priest would speak of his god. You hold those flowers as if they were the sun and only light in your world.”

“Tights,” she begged, “Don’t say such things. I cannot… must not-”

“But you do, don’t you?” Tights challenged. “He has bewitched you, hasn’t he?”

 “Tights-”

“You are so _stupid,_ Bulma!” Tights cried, lunging forward to hold Bulma’s trembling hands in hers, brushing back the blue bangs that had fallen into her eyes. “Did you never even consider… He is an immortal demon! You would willingly dedicate yourself to a being who would surely forget you as soon as the first wrinkle appears on your skin?”

“I don’t… he wont…”

“Bulma! Look at me!” Tights whispered, and as Bulma did what she was told, she felt a strange, panicked hysteria well up in her chest as she realized that her sister, as always… was _right._

“Bulma,” Tights called again, “You can’t… You can’t let him do this to you. I understand that you have no choice but to stay, but you cannot let yourself fall for his tricks. You cannot let him charm you into being his willing slave…”

“I’m not his slave!” she finally objected, wrenching her hands from her sister’s grasp.

She felt tears of defiant anger fall down her cheeks, and her lips trembled as she tried desperately to make Tights understand. “I am… I am _his_. He is not deceiving me, he is not entrancing me… no! The Prince… the Prince is my husband!”

“You have let him crawl beneath your skin, Bulma!” Tights said. “You are not even rebelling against this servitude, are you?”

“The Prince is kind to me…”

“He does not love you!” Tights screamed, silencing Bulma as the painful truth behind those words stabbed through her like a blade.

“Tights, please…” she begged, but Tights was determined.

“You love him. You cherish him so much, but you cannot even admit it to yourself,” her sister seethed. “How did he even manage to trick you? Did he appear before you as the most handsome man of your dreams? Demons can appear beautiful, more so than any mortal man. Did he lure you in with his words and beauty?”

Bulma stilled. “No. Most definitely not.”

“How does he look, Bulma?” Tights challenged. “You have always had wide eyes for handsome men. Is he the perfect image of your ‘type’? Dark hair, firm arms, narrowed and piercing eyes?”

“I do not love him for his appearance!” Bulma said, harshly admitting the one thing that she had known but had refused to acknowledge, all along…

Tights was right… Bulma loved her Prince.

Her desperation filled the pit of her stomach as the unwelcome words bled through her every vein; as the very contrasting power of her feelings that yearned for him, and her logic that should rightfully repel him, battled for dominance in her soul.

Bulma’s mind knew that Tights was right. It was foolish to love the Prince. It was the single most foolish thing that Bulma had ever done.

Yet her heart fiercely fought back, screaming that her feelings were valid and true, that she did not care if he would someday discard her once he inevitably tired of her…

Bulma loved Vegeta.

“I don’t know what to say to you, Bulma,” Tights whispered, a dejected whine edging her words. “You have let yourself be tricked…”

“I was not tricked,” she insisted. “I love him, yes. I do. But I do not love him for shallow reasons. I love _him,_ for how he treats me, how he cares for me. I don’t-”

 Bulma hesitated, wondering if it was right to tell Tights what she was about to say, but she decided that it would provide her sister further proof that what she felt for Vegeta was _real_.

“I don’t… I don’t even know what he looks like,” she admitted weakly, shoulders slumping as Tights’ eyes widened in shock.

“You don’t… you have never seen him?” Tights asked, her voice full of horror. “You have never touched him?”

“I have… _touched_ him,” Bulma said. “I lay with him each night. He holds me in his arms… has caressed me with his hands. But… I am not permitted to see him. He keeps me in the dark.”

“I cannot imagine such an existence,” Tights hissed. “To be raped in the dark by a _monster_ that you cannot even see-”

“He has never touched me without my consent,” Bulma defended. “I told you Tights… he has been kind to me.”

“And yet you do not even know what he looks like,” her sister rebutted. “He does not trust you to look into his eyes as he… as he…”

“He has always been gentle. His touch… I do not feel threatened by him…”

“Then find a way to gaze upon him, I dare you,” Tights said. “He is kind to you? Take a light to his face and know him. He will not resent your wanting to see him if he truly cares for you.”

“I can’t do that, Tights-”

 _“Try!”_ Tights begged. “I need to know that you are well-cared for, Bulma. And this… You must ensure that you are not tricked by a demon who forever hides behind a cloak of darkness. You need to know who this Prince truly is!”

8-8-8-8-8

After Tights’ visit, Bulma’s mind was in chaos.

She was happy to have seen her sister, but she was now confused, pained and conflicted about her love for Vegeta.

It was truly idiotic of her, wasn’t it? To so blindly love a man – in the literal sense! – almost without knowing him at all. To love a _god,_ an immortal being, to whom her entire life was but a mere second of his eternal existence. In the end, she will be nothing but a momentary entertainment, no matter how dearly she dedicated herself to him.

She dashed her tears away with the back of her hand as she lay quietly in bed, her arms aching to hold him, to have him near and reassure her… she did not even care if the words will be false.

She would believe him, regardless.

It took a long time for her to fall asleep, and as she slumbered, she dreamed of his hands on her skin, his breath on her neck, his lips ghosting gently across her cheeks as he slowly claimed her body as his. She heard his low chuckles in her ear, the lilting tone of his deep voice as he called her name… the light tap of his footsteps against her concrete floors as he moved away from their shared bed before he left her alone in her sprawling palace, coming back only once night fell once again.

Bulma was roused from sleep slowly, her mind fogged up as if she was swimming within a cloud. She felt gentle fingers on her cheeks, heard a whisper amidst the suffocating silence. She opened her eyes, and for the first time in a long time, she felt a moment of panic at the utter blackness that greeted her sight.

“Hush now, Bulma,” a deep voice called to her softly, and she wilted in relief as her agitated mind finally realized that there was no danger.

“Vegeta,” she whispered, her hands reaching up, pulling him to her so she can wrap her arms around him. Bulma felt herself shaking, the vestiges of her restless sleep keeping her heart pounding while she tried to calm herself with deep inhales of his scent.

“Are you alright?” he asked, and she almost cried again, but all she did was nod against his chest as he pulled her close, laying beside her on their bed.

“Yes,” she lied, still remembering Tights’ words, and her own confession of her deepening feelings for the demon god who now held her so carefully. “I’m alright.”

“You are not,” he growled low, squeezing her gently. “I had thought that being with your sister would have made you happier.”

“I am happy to have seen her,” she said, her mind spinning around until she came up with a believable enough lie to conceal the real reason for her tears. “I am just going to miss her.”

“You can see her again in a few months, if you wish,” he reassured, making her wince in guilt. “Just let me know when.”

“I don’t want to abuse your generosity-”

“It is _not_ abuse,” he interrupted. “I wish to keep you content, Bulma. I do not aspire to come home to you and find you in tears.”

She was about to speak again, when the words he used registered in her head, and she froze, shocked.

‘Come home to you.’

Bulma’s eyes widened, and she held on tighter, her fingers wrapping around his thick arms.  

‘Come _home_ to _you_.’

“Home?” she choked out, her tears gathering in her eyes, but for an entirely different reason. “Home… to me?”

She felt him nod against her, and Vegeta buried his nose in her hair, breathing deeply of her before he spoke, “To you.”

Overcome with emotion, the turmoil of her afternoon with Tights flew completely from Bulma’s mind as she reached out, grabbing hold of his shoulders as she hauled herself up. She followed the intimately familiar path of his body with her fingers, until she held his jaw in her palms. She lunged, her knowledge of him helping her find her target as she slanted her lips across his, pouring her heart into a euphoric kiss.

Vegeta groaned against her, instantly responding, his hands easily finding her waist to haul her up onto his lap. He breathed harshly against her as she eagerly tasted him, devoured as much of his essence as she could, and she shivered in delight when she felt his sharp fangs on the tip of her tongue.

She could feel him begin to harden beneath her as his arms wrapped possessively around her. She spread her legs, straddling him so she could rub against him, feeling the heat of him through her thin underclothes. Her hands mapped his powerful limbs while her hips moved in increasing frenzy, her mouth desperately moving against his.

She moaned softly when she felt his hands wander, sneaking to her front to firmly cup her breast. When he squeezed her flesh, she groaned, hastening her movements over his lap, wanting to tease him, make him feel just how much she wanted and needed his touch.

Bulma felt her desire begin to flow from her body, and she keened against his lips when his questing fingers travelled down, softly stroking her as she ground down on him. She heard him gasp against her as he touched her, and she keened out loud when he pressed hard against the crotch of her underwear, finding her pulsing nub and making flashes of light explode behind her closed eye lids.

“You are…” he breathed, “so wet. So _wet_. Is this all for me, Bulma?”

“Yes,” she whispered, trailing soft kisses along his jaw, feeling his hot skin against her tongue. “All of it… all of my desire is for you, my Prince.”

He groaned, pressing harder, and Bulma threw her head back as a most exquisite shiver racked her entire body.

“Vegeta!” she cried as she felt his mouth on her neck, kissing, suckling gently on the pulse that was beating madly against her throat.  

“Your panties are soaked,” he murmured. “I wish to have you now, Bulma.”

“Yes!” she cried, and in the next moment, she felt the increasingly uncomfortable material of her clothing melt away, until she felt nothing but his skin, the agonizing pleasure of his bare touch upon every inch of her body.

His heat was pressing against her, rubbing deliciously against her naked center, and Bulma braced her hands on his shoulders as she writhed against him. She pressed down, enticing him to enter, and it seemed Vegeta needed no further prompting as he held himself and began to breach her.

He went in, slowly, and as he moved no further, Bulma realized that he had held still, allowing her to set the pace. She reached up, wrapping an arm around his neck as she thrust down against him, bringing him into herself and making them both moan in delight.

“Fuck, Bulma,” Vegeta hissed as she raised herself slowly, before slamming her hips back down.

She buried her face against the side of his neck, gasping out bits and pieces of his name as she tried to move at a steady pace. She bounced on his lap, twirling her hips, her fingers clawing at his back as the pleasure rocked her, like lightning streaking through her blood and culminating where she and Vegeta were so beautifully joined.

Her buttocks slapped against his legs as she rode him, and the intimate euphoria of their union made tears stand in her eyes as she groaned, arching her back as sweet shudders crawled mercilessly down her spine.

“Vegeta!” she cried, writhing helplessly as her lips reverently kissed his chest. She tasted his sweat on her tongue, and she moaned low as his hands splayed across her back, helping her move as her rhythm began to falter.

“Let go, Bulma,” he urged. “Cum for me.”

“I…” she whispered, moving faster, _harder_. She squeezed her eyes shut as her limbs began to seize, focusing on the overwhelming ecstasy of his body moving inside hers. “Ve-Vegeta!”

“I need your pleasure, Bulma,” he hissed, nipping her ear and making her cry out at the feel of his sharp teeth.

“I… oh!” she gasped, her fingers flexing against him as she felt the familiar tightening that heralded her peak. She was close… So _close_.

“Yes, let me _feel_ it!” Vegeta growled, his voice throaty with his own desire.

“I’m… ah! Almost… oh, Vegeta! ”

A final, powerful thrust as he suddenly lifted his hips against her made Bulma scream, and she shook madly as an incredible release washed over her, numbing the tips of her toes and fingers as the sensations burned within her core. She felt Vegeta stiffen as he grabbed her hard, pulling her head down so he could crush their lips together, his fangs scraping against her lips as he indulged in her taste until she panted against him; boneless, breathless, yet utterly and completely sated.

Afterwards, he laid her beside him on the bed, and Bulma melted against him as he stroked her back, his fingers fleeting and tender across her skin.

It was as she was falling into the bliss of slumber that she heard him, mumbling softly against her hair...

“Bulma,” he whispered.

Bulma smiled, content… until he spoke again…

“My bride…”

Her eyes widened as that word that she hated with all of her heart tore through her soul, reminding her once again of her true place in Vegeta’s eternal life.

No matter how much she fancied it to be so, she was not his lover, not a beloved wife that he would keep by his side.

She was an offering, a sacrificial bride that kept him entertained, one that he would probably discard once she grew past a certain age, once her beauty began to fade.

_“He does not love you!”_

Tight’s voice rang viciously through her head as she closed her eyes against the painful truth…

It was then that Bulma accepted that her sister, as always… was right.

She had stupidly fallen in love with a demon who could never love her as much as she loved him.

It was right then, as she felt her demonic husband’s breaths fall into the steady rhythm of sleep, that she decided…

She needed to find a way to break this ridiculous infatuation, to see for herself exactly who, and _what_ , the Saiyajin Prince truly was.

Bulma needed to _see_ Vegeta.

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued…_


	8. Weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darkness gives way to light...  
> But sometimes, the light may also lead into deeper darkness.  
> Day 8: Weak in the Knees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I am finally back with an update!  
> I am sorry for taking so long with updating my stories nowadays. I want to be honest; I had recently gone through some rather painful personal experiences, ones that made me consider quitting writing altogether.  
> However, I told myself that I cannot do that to everyone who had been supporting me and my stories; I will keep writing because I do not want to let you, my friends and readers, down. You are the source of my strength. I will be a lot less active on Tumblr and Twitter, but I will see my stories through, this is my promise to you. I love you all this much. :)  
> Special thanks of course to the people who had been there to pick up the broken pieces of me. I will not mention you here, but you know who you are. I love you, the most.  
> Now, enough with my sentimentalities, and on with the chapter! I hope you all enjoy this, and should you feel inclined to, please do let me know what you think!

“Ouch!”

Bulma flinched, slapping a hand onto the left side of her neck as another mild sting suddenly flared. She ran her fingers over the slightly raised skin, recalling the bite that Vegeta had left there as he took her… on the night when he had first mentioned that she could see Tights.

That was several nights ago; Tights had already come and gone, but the bite mark was still there.  It now formed a small, slightly crescent-shaped indent, and she suspected that it was probably a brand of some sort: A stamp that screamed to all, that she was the property of the Saiyajin.

She put her experimental lighting tool down, reaching for a nearby mirror to inspect the mark. Her brows furrowed as she noted the lightly discolored skin, a sheen that seemed to pulse along with her breaths grabbing her attention as she craned her neck up to fully view the scar.

She had not even truly noticed the mark before it had begun acting up. Bulma realized that the irritating flashes of pain started once she had made her mind up that she needed to see what Vegeta looked like. It was a warning, she was sure, an admonition that she was straying from her loyalties as she longed to see him, worked to break her promise that she would never try any measures to look upon his face.

However, Bulma was nothing if not stubborn, and this little flaw of hers had often led her to all sorts of mischief. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure that she truly wanted to know what Vegeta looked like, and it was not merely due to Tights’ taunting.

She needed to know what the man she loved looked like.

It was probably unwise, as she knew that even if he looked like the foulest beast, nothing would change the way she felt for him. But she needed to see him, to put a face to the only man who had ever made her heart beat so wildly.

Even for a single _blessed_ second, she wanted to know if his lips looked as soft as they felt upon her lips... If his hands looked as strong and powerful as they seemed, while he held her close to him at night. She needed to know if his chest was as smooth as her fingers had led her to believe, and she longed so badly to know if his eyes were as beautiful as she imagined them to be.

Surely, it was not treachery, not a mortal crime, to take a small peek?

He would not even have to know…

She would look at him, only for a moment… And she vowed to never, ever, do it again.

All she needed, for the peace of her heart and mind, was a glimpse.

8-8-8-8-8

The gentle touch of his fingers woke her from slumber, and Bulma smiled, knowing from the darkness that surrounded her that Vegeta had finally arrived. She lifted a hand up to clutch the back of his, tenderly pressing his palm to her cheek while she softly nuzzled into his hold.

“Good evening, my Prince,” she whispered, kissing the center of his palm, feeling the warmth upon her lips. “How was your day?”

A dark chuckled greeted her, before he answered. “Terrible. All day, I had been wishing for the time when I can be here once again.”

“You missed me, then?” she teased with a smirk.

“Every moment,” he answered, and she felt him lean down to drop a kiss onto her forehead. “I was anxious for this day to just end. I was very close to annihilating the entirety of my realm.”

Bulma sensed a strange note to his tone, an irritation that was clearly eating at him, a deep and simmering anger that had yet to pass. She frowned, before she pushed up on her elbows so that she can sit straight before him.

“Are you… alright?” she asked. “You seem restless.”

He was silent, and for a while, Bulma thought that he was not going to answer.

Then, he sighed, before biting out, “I had a preposterous argument with my father.”

She frowned, surprised. Though Vegeta had always hesitantly given her very vague details of his experiences, he had never before mentioned his father, the Saiyajin King. “What happened?”

“We were disagreeing about certain things, and I refused to yield,” he said. “I may be his son, but I am not an immature _imbecile_. I will stand by my decisions. Even those that otherwise may seem questionable to him.”

“Will you tell me what started it?”

“I… cannot,” he said. “Do not take it personally, but I truly cannot-”

“I understand,” she interjected. “There are things about you that I may never be allowed to know. But… Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?”

She heard him breathe deeply, an anxious sound that stemmed from the depths of his weary soul. Bulma felt his hands on hers, before he spoke, “All I need is your presence. That is enough.”

A flustered tingle swept through Bulma’s spine, and she could feel a peculiar heat creep into her cheeks. She was sure that she was flushed, delighted as she was by his answer, and she smiled brightly, twisting her hand to link her fingers with his.

She searched her mind for ideas, knowing that she wanted to help him calm down. As she felt his fingers dance slowly across the backs of her fingers, she brightened, knowing exactly how to make him feel at ease.

“I want to cheer you up,” she said. “And I think I know what we can do.”

She pulled her hands away from his grip as she began to rise, bracing herself on the mattress as she straightened.

“What are you doing?” Vegeta asked.

Bulma simply grinned back in answer, holding her hands out in his direction. She felt him hold her forearms, and she could practically feel the confusion flow through him when she simply stepped back, pulling him with her.

“Come on,” she urged, “Stand up!”

“Why?”

“I want us to dance,” she finally said, letting her hands trail along the lengths of his arms until she held his shoulders in her hands. “Dancing always makes me feel better.”

“Woman, what-”

She groped around until she held his wrists, placing his hesitant hands on her hips. He automatically clutched her, pulling her slightly closer while she wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling brightly up at where she guessed his eyes would be.

She began swaying on her feet, moving her hips in time with a beat in her head. She leaned closer to him, making their bodies meld with each other as the tune in her mind seeped out of her mouth, making her hum a slow melody from a long-forgotten song.

With a soft giggle, Bulma let the tips of her fingers play with the short hairs on Vegeta’s nape, smiling mischievously when she felt small goosebumps where her fingers had gently brushed.

“Move with me,” she urged. “I had barely danced with men, I don’t really know how to do this very well.”

“You had done this with _other men_?”

She laughed at his irritated tone, playfully jostling him as she purred, “Never because I wanted to. You are the only man I have ever asked to dance with me.”

She heard him sniff, apparently unconvinced but mollified, and his petulance made her laugh. To make up for his sour mood, she shifted even closer, resting her cheek on the hard planes of his chest that nudged against her chin.

She had suspected that Vegeta was not very tall, and as she confirmed it as they danced, she found that she absolutely did not mind. She placed a kiss upon his chest as she moved, humming softly, eyes closed as she basked in the extraordinary heat of his skin.

Soon, she felt him begin to move with her, hesitantly swaying along with her while his hands rested on her lower back. He was so _proper_ , never letting his touches move onto sensitive territory, even while her fingers began to move lower until they twirled around the material of his pants, teasing along the sloping swell of his buttocks.

She could feel him in her palms, the strength of him contrasting with the way his fingers flitted lightly across her skin. She felt, more than heard his amused chuckle, before he pulled her closer, carefully melding his body with hers.

He swayed, slowly, from side to side, taking her with him while she hummed her old melody. The fog of time began to lift, and she slowly remembered where she had heard the tune; a simple song that her mother had sung as she cheerfully tended to her gardens. Bulma could remember only a few words, and she found them standing at the tip of her tongue as she went on.

“I’ll give you romance…” she sang softly, closing her eyes tight against the sudden swell of emotion, the depth of her love for her departed mother seemingly paling in comparison to the agonizing adoration that she felt for the man in her arms.

She would give him romance. She would give him comfort… She would give him everything, if she could.

His calming hand on her back was her first clue that she had been sobbing as she hummed, and Bulma berated herself for how, even when she was trying to be comforting _for_ Vegeta, in the end, he was still the one giving peace to her.

She stopped humming long enough to breathe deeply, wrapping her arms tighter around his waist as she willed her tears away. She took in a long, shaky breath, opening her eyes to the obsidian darkness before she decided to breach the one thing that she had never before dared to speak of.

“Vegeta,” she called softly. Her heart pounded in her ears as she mustered up the will to gather her thoughts, to give herself that last needed push.

He hummed back in answer, the sound so calm and at ease that she nearly faltered, but she fought to muster up the strength that she needed to form her next words.

“I…” she stuttered. “I love you, Vegeta.”

The steady rise and fall of his chest against her cheek stalled, and she clenched her eyes against the rejection that she knew was coming.

“I’m sorry, but I couldn’t keep it to myself anymore.” she said in a rush. “I needed you to know…”

“Bulma,” she heard him whisper as she felt his hands clasp heavily upon her upper arms, an unreadable desperation in his touch.

She looked up, staring back into the darkness, knowing that somewhere in that deep black were his eyes, looking down at her as she laid herself bare.  She will not be deterred; she was determined to speak.

“I am yours until I die,” she promised, “And far beyond that, I pledge my soul to you, should you want-”

Vegeta’s lips crashing down onto her own silenced anything else that she would have had to say.

His kiss was fervent… demanding, overwhelming her every sense as he plunged his tongue into her mouth, seeking her essence. With a gasp, she let herself melt into him, her eyes falling shut as she basked in the incomparable beauty of his embrace. She shivered when he pulled her tight against him, his hands spreading wide across her back to hold her close.

He groaned against her lips, and she moaned at his assault, her hands reaching up to clasp desperately onto the thick muscles of his arms as she poured her soul into kissing him back. His hands began to fist into the back of her sleeping dress, tangling none-too-gently with the tips of her hair while his increasingly shallow breaths blew across her cheeks.

Her heart beat madly in exhilaration while her legs shook, weak in the knees from the unbelievable _passion_ that she felt in his every exhale, every possessive sweep of his tongue within her mouth.

His hand moved up to hold the back of her head as he slanted his lips more deeply against hers, and she keened lightly as he growled softly into her. She moved to wrap her arms up and around his neck, pulling at his hair, shuddering in need of the heat of his body.

Bulma’s legs gave out just as he swept her off her feet, and she sighed as she felt the soft mattress against her back, Vegeta’s weight a delight as he braced himself above her and continued to ravish her lips.

Like when they had been dancing, his hands never strayed to touch her anywhere intimate _._ Yet, Bulma felt _closer_ to him than ever before, as if the insistently innocent caresses pulled at something deeper within her, his touches deeper and more meaningful than any of the times that they had been naked and writhing against one another.

Tears stood in her eyes again as she held him, as she breathed her love into his mouth, and when he finally pulled away, Bulma’s lips trembled in need while she tried and failed to bring air back into her lungs.

She felt Vegeta’s hands in her hair, pushing the wayward strands back and away from her eyes. She reached up, her hands blindly groping to touch his face, and she smiled tremulously as she imagined looking into his eyes; desperately wishing once again to gaze upon the face of her dearly beloved Prince.

The mark on her neck pulsed excitedly, jubilant in the face of her emotions. Her voice was harsh as she tried to speak, still lost in the echoes of his brilliant lips, but she managed to slowly choke out his name as she felt him lean down to place another soft kiss on her forehead.

“Vegeta,” she rasped, and he responded by moving to lay beside her on the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist. She felt him bury his face in her hair, heard his deep inhales as he pulled her tight, the warmth of his body scorching and calming her all at once.

She moved to snuggle against him, taking a deep whiff of his scent: the strangely intoxicating mixture of burning coal and wild grass seeped deep into her heart while she desperately held on.

Her fingers fell upon the soft material of the small vest that he always wore, and she curled her hand around the edges of it as she listened intently to the beats of his heart against her ear.

“Lay with me, Bulma,” he muttered, before she felt his lips fall onto her head. “Just lay beside me, tonight.”

She nodded, pressing herself as close to him as she could, tangling her thin legs with his muscular ones. He breathed onto her, breathed _her_ in, and it did not take long at all until his turbulence settled into deep calm.

Bulma found herself drifting off into a light sleep, her heart content from her confession, while her mind spun in circles as she pondered Vegeta’s reaction. He did not turn her away, and chose to sleep fitfully beside her.

Perhaps, beyond a bedmate, she meant something to him, as well.

8-8-8-8-8

The pulsing of her mark woke her from her slumber, and Bulma stirred gently, finding herself still lightly entwined with Vegeta’s arms. It could not have been more than a few hours since they had both fallen asleep, but she woke with a strange haze over her head, the remnants of a dream that she could not remember still lingering in the back of her mind.

“Vegeta?” she whispered, to which, there was no response.

She moved slowly, extricating herself from his limbs, to reach underneath the bed.

Her fingers easily found the small, cylindrical tool that she had previously hidden there, her completed lighting implement that she had been planning to use once Vegeta fell asleep.

She bit back a hiss as her mark pulsed painfully, _angrily_ , on her neck, but she determinedly stood, carefully groping around in the darkness to find the foot of the bed.

When she finally stood on the floor, she straightened, wrapping both hands around the small device while her heart beat a thousand times per minute, her stomach roiling in a near-agonizing mixture of excitement and terror.

This was it… she was about to know what Vegeta looked like.

He was asleep, and therefore, what would be bared to her would definitely be his natural form. She would cherish the sight of him, she knew, no matter what his appearance may be.

All she needed was a glimpse.

Her fingers shook, her breaths coming fast as she used her thumb to find the switch to summon the light. A small click was all it took, and the tool emitted a small, soft spot of illumination at the palm of her hand.

Slowly, she shone the light outward… finding the edge of her mattress, until the narrow spot of light showed her Vegeta's bare feet, angled towards her, letting her know that he was laying sideways on her bed.

Bulma moved the light up, tracing the legs and thick thighs that were encased in loose, white pants…

Up a sculpted abdomen and fantastically defined chest, framed by a simple, sleeveless black vest…

Powerful shoulders and obscenely muscular arms, and large hands with slender fingers…

Her breaths completely stopped, as the light finally reached his face.

A sharply-angled jaw nestled comfortably against her soft pillows, his shapely lips parted slightly with his gentle breaths. He had high cheekbones, and a thin, perfect nose. His skin was smooth and beautifully-tanned, and his eyes, closed in slumber, rested beneath thick, dark brows. He had a high forehead edged by a deep widow’s peak that flared up into thick black hair, rising like ebony flames atop his head.

Vegeta was the most magnificent man that she had ever seen.

Her hands were shaking so badly, her heart threatening to explode from her chest as she risked a longer look, unable to tear her gaze away. He was so much more than anything she had ever dreamed of, and she longed so badly to reach down and stroke his face, a vision that she knew she could never, ever forget.

Another nagging pulse went through her from her mark, and she attempted to ignore it, hypnotized as she was by his unbelievable beauty.

However, she was unable to ignore it any further when she felt the pulsing intensify, right before she felt a sudden force wrap around her neck, cutting off her breaths.

Bulma choked, reaching up to grab at whatever seemed to be choking her. Her eyes widened when she found something as thick as an arm wrapping around her throat, squeezing tighter as she began to struggle.

The lighting tool clattered to the ground as she lifted both hands to wrestle with the force that held her, and the sound of the falling tool reverberated through the room, the spot of light growing as it seemed like the shadows moved away from it, turning towards _her._

She tried to twist away, but it seemed as if the darkness itself was trying to swallow her whole, turning into a thick, black essence that was cutting off her air and pulling her away from the Prince.

She watched in horror as Vegeta’s eyes fluttered open, and Bulma felt herself despair as she realized that now, she was facing not just death, but discovery.

All she had wanted was a glimpse…

Through her darkening vision, she saw him stir, and he looked up, his eyes meeting hers for the first, and perhaps the very last time.

His eyes were narrow, darker than night… Blacker even than the force that was now consuming her for her treachery.

As she watched his eyes stare in shock at her, she realized that her heart felt that death was a small prize to pay, for finally being given the chance to see Vegeta…

“Bulma!” he called, and she smiled sadly as he flew towards her, lunging at the force that held her back.

His warmth enveloped her as he pulled her away from the monstrous darkness with a shout, harshly shoving her into the spot of light.

Her breaths came back to her in a rush as she fell into a heap on the floor, and she gasped for air as she clutched at her now-sore throat. Yet, she could not keep her gaze away from Vegeta as he thrust his hands into the darkness, a red beam of energy emanating from his palms as he desperately held the shadows at bay.

“What have you done?” he screamed at her, and she watched as he glanced back at her, a pained, accusing look in his eyes. “Mortals are not allowed to _see_ me, Bulma!”

“I’m sorry!” she choked out, “I just wanted-”

“I know,” he growled, teeth gritted as the darkness roared, reaching for her like clawed fingers that Vegeta stubbornly fought into submission.

“Forgive me, Vegeta!” she called, reaching a hand out to him, wanting to touch him…

“I understand,” he said, “But you have doomed us both.”

He snarled, before he wrenched one of his hands to point towards her, a tiny spot of bluish light forming in the center of his palm.

Was he going to kill her? Because she would understand…

The darkness was restless, screeching for her, and she could only watch helplessly as Vegeta struggled against its force.

“Vegeta…”

He turned his head towards her, his eyes raking across her before he clamped them shut, and he spoke, a soft, mournful edge to his voice…

“Farewell, my Bulma.”

The blue light in his hand blinded her a second before she can respond, and she waited for the oblivion of death as she refused to try to shield herself from his retribution.

However, death didn’t come, and Bulma blinked her eyes as she realized that she was, in fact, still alive.

She braced her hands on the floor as she waited for her vision to return, and it was then that she realized that something was… off.

The floor felt cold and uneven beneath her hands, and she knew that her palace was a perfect haven of smooth stones and marble.

The deafening, sudden quiet was also another telling sign…

She furiously blinked her eyes to regain her vision, and when the fog finally cleared, she looked around, and gasped.

A thick beam on moonlight fell upon her, streaming in from a large, open window. A tall altar stood imposingly in front of her, upon which a golden case sat, holding a single, dark crown.

Her heart thundered in her ears as she immediately remembered… it was the last place that she had been in before Vegeta had taken her to live in his palace.

She was back in the Saiyajin Temple, in her old village.

A choked cry escaped her as she scrambled to get up. She ran to the doorway, wrenching the heavy doors open so she can look out, her disbelieving eyes raking across the familiar landscape of the place that she had grown up in…

Her knees buckled, and Bulma found herself falling into a forlorn heap at the temple entrance, the sobs breaking from her lips as she understood…

In her curiosity, her stupid treachery, she had lost the one thing that she now knew that she had always needed in her life.

She had lost her love…

Vegeta… had banished her.

8-8-8-8-8

 

_To be continued…_

 


	9. Despair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma is free, but it is a freedom that she does not wish for. She finds herself holding on to the one thing that links her to Vegeta, and she vows to protect it at all costs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I'm back with a new update.  
> Unfortunately, it is rather late for 69Fes (Vegebul Day), but I hope you like it!  
> Feedback will be greatly appreciated!

She dearly missed the darkness.

Bulma had never before thought that she would shun the light, but the longer she lived with no sign of Vegeta’s shadows, the more she despaired.

He had released her from her solitude, but though she was once again free to roam her world like she had been before she was offered to Vegeta, she had never before felt more imprisoned… more _alone_.

The days turned into weeks, and she wished for nothing more than to hear his voice whisper in her ear, for his touch to sooth her during the blackest of nights.

And yet, more than the selfish desire to hold him once again, Bulma just needed to know that he was alright. He had been locked in a battle with the thick darkness when she had last seen him, and she wanted so badly to ascertain if he had been strong enough to defeat his foe.

She could never forgive herself, if she had caused him harm through her foolishness. She would offer her own soul to redeem his; live an eternity of torment, if only to know that he was going to be fine.

Surely, his father, the King of the Saiyajin, would show him mercy? She remembered that Vegeta had been at odds with the elder god on the night of their separation, but would he truly be willing to abandon his own son?

Since the day she was returned to her old home, she had been inconsolable, but tried very hard not to appear so. Tongues would definitely wag, should anyone notice how bereft she felt without the Prince; She was expected to be happy to be free of him. With her father holding a high position in the council, she could not let the people know that she was actually in mourning, since this would be deemed strange and would damage her father’s reputation.

Tights was the only one who knew of the depths of her loneliness. Bulma had cried to her as she was returned, and Tights had held her, apologizing for pushing her to look at the Prince. Bulma did not blame her, however, as she knew that, with or without her sister’s prompting, she would have tried to gaze at him sooner or later.

Thus, she stayed at home, fielding people’s questions about her time with Vegeta by stating that she wished not to recall her trauma, all the while shaking in regret as she begged her mind to not _forget._

She dared not forget how beautiful he had looked as he laid on their bed… how glorious he had been as he fought against the dark monster that was trying to destroy them.

She would always remember the sound of his voice, the way he spoke her name, the way she could feel a smile on his lips when he kissed her good night.

Now, as she laid alone on her cold bed each night, she would remember his caresses. She would dream of how he held her close, his hand resting gently on her stomach as he pressed her back against his chest.

It was too much to bear, the thought of living without him… but Bulma had no one but herself to blame.

Her only consolation was the strange mark on her neck, the one that still pulsed lightly at times. She hoped that this meant that Vegeta was indeed alive, and that wherever he may be, he could eventually forgive her disloyalty.

At times, in the dead of night, she would sneak out to kneel at the altar of the Saiyajin, begging whoever could be listening to please keep her beloved Prince safe. She dared not utter his name, fearing that the malevolent king would cast his fury upon Vegeta, should he ever find out that he had let her know more than she ever should have been permitted.

8-8-8-8-8

“Bulma, come with me, you need to see this!”

She turned at Tights’ excited tone, startling as her elder sister grabbed her hand and quickly pulled her to the direction of the main door.

“Wait, Tights, what is it?” Bulma asked as she nearly tripped over herself, hesitantly jogging after her until they stood by the main doors.

Both stood at the open doorway, and Bulma followed Tight’s gaze to a group of people gathering nearby, speaking noisily amongst themselves. Bulma tried to listen in on what they were excitedly discussing, until she realized that she could not understand them because they were all huddled in little groups, speaking in a mix of several different languages that Bulma had never yet heard in person.

“Are those… tourists?” Bulma asked, confused. She had never seen tourists in their town before!

Tights nodded excitedly. “They started coming in after the drought was lifted, while you were… away.”

“I see,” Bulma swallowed in understanding, looking at the tourists with a slightly grimmer gaze. She had suspicions about the reason for their interest, but she needed to be sure. “And what brings them here?”

“It seems that word spread around that the Gods of Destruction had made an apparition here,” Tights answered. “These people come in, every few weeks, to see the Saiyajin temple and pay homage. The last group came a few weeks ago, and this is the first group to come since you have returned.”

Bulma felt her brows furrow in concern as one of the town’s council members approached the group, and began herding them in the direction of the nearby temple. She turned to her sister, and asked, “They go into the temple?”

“Yes. They offer gifts and pray before the Saiyajin altar.”

A strange sort of foreboding went through Bulma as she thought of the marble altar. It was a simple flat surface that held only one item upon it: the Saiyajin diadem, unguarded, within a clear glass case.

Vegeta never truly told her the exact method, but she knew that the intricate dark crown could be used to enter the Saiyajin realm, should one know how to use it. It was powerful – irreplaceable – and she could only imagine what could happen, should it fall into malicious hands.

She bit her bottom lip, feeling unnerved. “What of the diadem?”

“The artifact?” Tights asked. “Do not worry, it stays in the case, no one is allowed to touch it.”

“Good,” Bulma nodded, “I may need to speak to father about placing the diadem in a more secure location.”

It would be possible to relocate the diadem, or perhaps to just place guards at the entrance to ensure that the artifact remains untouched. Perhaps they could also install a stronger case, bolted to the altar or embedded onto a higher wall. Now that she knew that several people currently clamored to see the diadem, Bulma thought that anywhere would be more preferable to the flimsy old glass case.

Tights’ hand on her shoulder pulled her from her thoughts, and Bulma looked up to meet her sister’s blue eyes, narrowed at her in clear question.

“Bulma,” she began. “What are you thinking?

She just shook her head, plastering a fake smile on her lips. She had already betrayed Vegeta once; She would not do it again, by telling Tights about the true significance of the diadem. That was surely a piece of knowledge that would be best kept secret.

8-8-8-8-8

The yellow bell flowers were in full bloom, and she smiled as she ran the backs of her fingers across the soft petals. Of all the plants in her garden, these flowers were the ones that she treasured the most.

A soft breeze brought the fragrance of the blossoms to waft across her, surrounding her in a cloud of their perfumed essence. However, the winds also carried a different, but strangely familiar mixture of scents. She stood still, breathing deeply of the various smells that warred to dominate her senses. Her heart beat madly in odd anticipation, while she puzzled over the sensations that the aromas brought upon her body.

Gooseflesh covered her arms as she anxiously breathed in, knowing that the smells were somehow tied intimately with her, but they were so faint that she could barely recognize them…

She closed her eyes and looked around, trying to find the source as she inhaled… hands shaking as she tried harder to remember. Her chest could have swollen from the force of her heartbeats, and she knew that her spirit must already know what her mind still failed to register.

She placed her hands against her throat as she willed herself to _think_ , trying hard to isolate the individual scents so she could understand why they brought tears to her eyes; why they made her mouth run dry, and made her whole body ache in desperate yearning.

Slowly, the smells began to make themselves clearer…

Coal, as it burned with hot, red embers…

And… fresh dew upon wild, green grass…

Her eyes widened, and she spun around, realization touching her soul a mere moment before she heard a voice whisper in her ear…

“Bulma…”  

The voice was low, deep and darkly delightful, and she felt the tears run down her cheeks as she ran, trying to move closer to the source of the scents, the place from where the soft voice seemed to emanate as it reverberated in her head.

She tripped over her skirts as the wind rushed past her, and she fell roughly onto her knees as their rapidly strengthening gales blanketed her in a near-solid mist. Soon, the air billowing around her began to firm, taking shape. Bulma felt warmth envelope her, and she gasped, hands reaching out to hold on to the arms that she could _feel_ around her, but could not _see_.

She sobbed painfully, screaming, calling out into the merciless void until her throat burned, a single word – a name – tumbling desperately from her lips…

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma startled awake in the middle of the night, harshly pulled from a dream that she could not remember. She looked around blearily, realizing that she had been awoken as a frenzied call resounded from the town hall, the bells ringing loudly amidst the scattered screams of her fellow townsmen. She froze, remembering only one other time that such chaos had erupted in their village…

_Pirates…_

She remembered the raid, when sinister-looking men had molested and murdered her mother as they failed to find valuables in their home. They had stormed their schools, libraries, looking for anything they could steal, easily disarming the men who tried desperately to defend their homes and families.

Bulma shook, feeling the blood drain from her face, but she stood up, running to the nearest window to peek out at the bedlam that she knew she would find.

“Oh no,” she gasped, finding that some homes were already on fire, and their local peace force were already out, wielding their weapons as they tried to isolate the parts of town that were already beyond repair.

Her hands grasped at the corners of the open window, and she stared in horror while the women ran away from the commotion, tugging their children along as the men tried to help keep the pirates at bay. However, as she watched the various faces that sped past, Bulma noticed something… odd.

It seemed that the larger estates remained unharmed, and the houses that were under attack were the poorer, smaller ones at the edge of the town. It seemed strange for a group of thieves to successfully launch a stealthy attack in the middle of the night, and yet fail to infiltrate the houses of the magistrates and rich people, choosing to attack the low-income households that surely held nothing of value.

Her mind raced as she tried to rationalize it, puzzling out the reason as to why the pirates would pillage the areas that were clearly struggling, instead of first targeting the larger estates that surrounded the temples of the gods.

Wait…

The temples…

The Saiyajin temple!

Utter terror gripped her, and she pivoted on her heel, hurriedly pulling away from the window to grab her robe. She ran out her bedroom while she tightened her coat around her waist, heart pounding as she raced to the main hall, quickly dashing out the front door before either Tights or her father could see and stop her.

It all began to make sense… why she had been nervous, when she found out that people had been coming in to see the diadem. She had been instantly wary at the thought of those visitors, and perhaps, she had silently foreseen the twisted interest that people would have towards the artifact.

After all, the power that one could wield, should they gain a measure of favor or even _control_ over the Saiyajin, would surely be unimaginable.

Her breaths lodged in her throat as she ran at full tilt, racing towards the temple. The council and most of the townspeople were gathering at the town hall, avidly watching the burning houses. She vividly noted that the wealthier homes were all on alert, porch lights ablaze as they all worked to guard and secure their own perimeters.

The temples were left completely vulnerable…

Her bare feet felt raw as she ran upon the uneven ground, her blue hair flying in the furious winds as she desperately reached for the temple. When the golden turrets finally came within view, she pushed forward, heart leaping as she thought only of the diadem.

The mark on her neck began to pulse quickly, as if her panic had roused it from its slumber. She raced up the stairs leading into the temple, and upon reaching the entryway, she pulled with all of her might to wrench the large doors open.

She was panting as she opened her eyes wide, gaze trained on the center of the hall where the altar laid unprotected. She ran, her clothing flying in wild disarray as her feet padded loudly upon the floors, arms reaching out to clasp the thin glass case that shielded the diadem.

A sharp pinch on her neck made her hiss, and she slapped a hand across the mark, willing it to calm as she splayed her free hand on the glass. Beyond her fingers, she spied the emblem of the Saiyajin, gleaming proudly from the center of the diadem.

Bulma closed her eyes, ignoring the mark on her neck as it seemed to scream out in warning. When she opened her eyes again, she noted distractedly that the red symbol on the artifact seemed to be glowing, shining more and more intensely while she tightened her hold on the glass case, and began to lift it up.

She set the case aside, and she stared, transfixed, as the diadem sat before her with nothing but the night air between them. She reached out, a single finger moving to gingerly touch the emblem, partly terrified of what would happen once she took hold of it.

Yet, the diadem didn’t move, didn’t seem to really mind, as she held it. Emboldened, Bulma wrapped her fingers around it, lifting it from the altar, pulling it close to her chest as her heart beat loudly in her ears.

Bulma desperately kept the Prince’s name out of her mind, remembering how the knowledge of his name alone could be significant for a person who held the Saiyajin artifact. In her hands, she held what was a seemingly harmless trinket that could disrupt the Saiyajin realm, and cause unknown harm to her Prince and his people.

The diadem… Bulma’s last and only remaining link to her lost love…

She needed to do all that she could, to keep it safe.

Hurriedly, she descended from the podium whereupon the altar stood, holding the diadem close to herself as she quickly tried to decide on where she could run, to keep it away from the pirates.

A loud banging sound startled Bulma, and she looked up in alarm. The doors had been pushed open violently, and at the doorway, stood five large men.

Clearly part of the group of intruders, their faces were twisted in malice as they focused their gazes on the crown that she held in her arms.

“No,” she whispered in horror.

She had wanted to protect the diadem…

Bulma watched the men advance menacingly towards her, their intent clear in their narrowed eyes. Her heart plummeted in dread, as she quickly realized that she was, unfortunately, too late.

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued…_


	10. Torment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bulma knows that the situation is hopeless, but still, she vows to protect the secrets of the Saiyajin. She desperately keeps Vegeta's name out of her heart and mind, but will her promise to fight alone, lead to her destruction?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again everyone! A little bit of warning, this chapter is going to be rather brutal and painful. I have never before written something like this, so I would really appreciate your comments, if you find anything that I should work to improve on!

The roaring of her blood was deafening, as Bulma kept her gaze trained on the intruders before her.

The five men were large, terrifying, but she stood steady, her grip tight around the dark golden crown that she was determined to keep safe.

She watched as the pirates walked towards her, their footsteps pounding heavily upon the marble floors. Their smirks widened as they neared, and she knew that they could sense the fear within her, no matter how hard she tried not to let it show.

Her knees shook as they began to surround her, and the largest man in the center of the group cocked his brow at her in mocking question. She glared defiantly, clutching the diadem to her chest even as her heart grew heavy with the sinking feeling that things will surely not go well for her.

“Hello there,” the man, clearly their leader, said. “What is a pretty thing like you doing here so late this evening?”

Bulma stared silently, her eyes hard, lips pursed tight. They would not make her cower.

“I think our captain asked you a question, woman,” the man farthest to the right snipped, his skin slightly reddened by the light of the flames that they could see through the window.

She held the diadem more tightly against her chest, narrowing her eyes at each of the men in turn. She fought against her instinct to take a step back as the captain advanced, one large hand held out to her.

“I believe you have something that I want,” he said. “Hand it over, and we will leave you be.”

She shook her head, a sneer pulling at the edges of her lips as she finally spoke. “Nothing that belongs in this temple shall ever leave it.”

Chuckles resounded from the men as the captain advanced further, until he was standing mere inches away from her. She craned her neck up to stare belligerently at him, watching in grim satisfaction as his eyes widened in surprise.

“Brave one, aren’t you?” he asked with a smirk.

Suddenly, one of his large hands grabbed her roughly, making her cry out as his hard grip felt like he had crushed the bones on her shoulder. He shook her, while his other hand easily grasped the diadem, yanking until she held on to the crown only by her fingers.

“No! Let go!” Bulma yelled as she fought, curling her hand tight around the rim of the crown. “The diadem does not belong to you!”

With a smirk and another effortless yank, the man pulled the crown completely away from her. Bulma despaired as she watched him twirl the crown around his fingers, a victorious light in his eyes as he beheld the stunning artifact that he now had in his hand.

“Quite valuable, I see,” he crowed, tossing it over to one of the men behind him. Then, with a fierce shove, he pushed Bulma back, making her fall to the floor with a pained shout.

“No!” she cried again, quickly pushing herself up to her feet to rush at the man holding the diadem.

She scratched wildly at him, reaching for the diadem, but the man simply held her back, his large eyes gleaming as he backhanded her painfully across her cheek.

Bulma cried out as his harsh blow split her lip, and she fell to the ground once again, glaring hard at the men. She stood up, her blue eyes flashing in fury as she watched them ignore her and walk away.

“Give it back!” she yelled. “That diadem belongs to the Saiyajin!”

One of the men paused, slowly turning around to look at her, and Bulma watched as his eyes widened, his lips twisting into a gleeful grin.

“Men,” he said, making all the others pause in question. He moved to walk towards Bulma, his grin widening into a mischievous leer as he continued, “I know this woman.”

“What, is she another one of your past whores?” one asked, moving closer to her as well.

“Oh, she is a whore, alright… but not one of mine,” he said, making Bulma bristle.

“Whose, then?” the captain asked, turning to regard her more closely.

The man in front of her smirked, before he reached forward to forcefully yank her by the hair.

Bulma cried out in pain, hands wrapping around the stronger man’s wrist as she struggled to free herself. The man just laughed in her face, pulling her closer to himself, his rancid breaths choking her as he stared into her blue eyes in recognition.

“This is the Saiyajin Prince’s whore,” he hissed, tightening his grip around her hair as he shook her in grim delight. “I recognize her from the images that they sell in town.”

The captain moved forward, also regarding her with renewed interest. “The priestess that they had offered to him, to lift the pestilence?”

“Aye,” the man responded before he threw her back down to the ground with another harsh shove.

“Kyah!” Bulma shouted as she landed painfully on her arm, her elbow breaking her fall. She looked up as the five men began to walk back towards her, and the captain pulled the diadem from one of his goons as he slowly knelt down to be at eye level with her on the floor.

“Truly?” he asked. “No wonder, she was so fiercely protective of the artifact.”

“Captain,” one said, “D’you reckon she knows how to call on the Prince?”

Bulma’s blood ran cold at the question, as the men’s dark eyes all turned to stare at her with renewed, evil interest.

The captain sneered, eyes narrowing as he said, “By the look in her eyes right now, I believe she does.”

She swallowed, before she bit out, “He will never come, at your behest.”

The large hand that held the diadem rammed into her cheek so fast that she had no time to even shout, and she fell back onto the floor, vision dimming from the pain of the sudden, excruciating hit. Her jaw felt raw, her cheeks undoubtedly beginning to swell as she sobbed, her hand flying to hold her pounding head in her hands.

“He may not come at my request, priestess, but surely, he will come for you,” the captain hissed, leaning down to yank her up by the hair.

Bulma cried out, clawing at his hand that held her as she struggled to pull away, but he simply laughed before he stood up, holding her up by the blue strands. She tried to twist away, but he then proceeded to walk towards the altar, dragging her by the hair as she screamed in agony.

He threw her back against the legs of the marble altar, and she felt her back crack as her spine violently hit the cold stone. She clamored to stand, trying and failing to brace herself up with her shaking arms as the captain stood before her.

“Tell us how to summon the Saiyajin,” he demanded.

She glared at him, all of her hate spearing him through her eyes that were quickly beginning to swell. She felt a lump of blood form at the back of her throat, and she heaved it out, spitting it at his feet before hissing, “Never.”

The captain remained unmoved. He simply smirked back at her, before motioning over his shoulder to call upon his men. They surrounded her, their sneers filling her heart with terrified fury, but she sat as straight as she could, eyes flashing as a snarl also formed defiantly on her lips.

She tried not to recoil as the captain reached down to deliver a stinging slap onto her cheek, but the pain made her cry out, a hand flying to hold the throbbing side of her face.

Still, she would not yield.

This was apparently made clear, as the captain straightened, and with an evil sparkle in his eyes, he moved back, motioning to the other pirates.

“Men…” he called, a smirk splitting his face as he commanded, “Do your worst.”

8-8-8-8-8

Bulma had often heard that sinners may thrive during their time on earth, but shall suffer eternal torment in hell once their spirits crossed over into the afterlife.

She was quite sure, that no eternal torture could be worse than this.

It had possibly been hours since the pirates decided to squeeze her for information, and every inch of her was swollen, bloody and bruised. They had stabbed her sides with their knives, carved through her skin with rusted hooks as they tried to force her to reveal the Saiyajin’s secrets.

However, no matter how many times the men demanded that she give up what she knew about the Saiyajin, her lips stayed sealed. Her vision had gone past the point of blurry and well into blindness after one too many hits to the head, but she stayed quiet, glaring wordlessly ahead at the hunkering forms that stood menacingly over her body.

She refused to even think about Vegeta, bearing the pain of the hits, slaps and kicks, the burns that littered her arms and back. She knew that, should her mind wander to Vegeta’s image and name, there was a chance that she would call out to him, betray him and his secrets.

In the back of her mind, she wondered if he could feel her distress, or if he had blocked her out as much as she was trying to keep him out of her thoughts. The mark on her neck was strangely silent, with not a single sting or pulse. She supposed that the mark may have been incidental, that she had somehow lost her strange connection to Vegeta… and it may be for the best.

She wouldn’t want him to see her like this. A battered, broken woman, with cheeks that were split and swollen beyond recognition. Chunks of her blue hair were missing from where one of the brutal men had threatened her with a flaming torch and singed fistfuls of the strands down to their very roots.

Bulma could hear a commotion from outside the temple, and she surmised that it may be the townspeople. Perhaps they had finally figured out that the fires in the cheaper homes were nothing but a diversion. Yet, it seemed that they were powerless against the pirates, as most members of the band of thieves were still outside and barricading the temple, while the five who held her had locked themselves inside with Bulma as their only hostage.

She wished desperately for oblivion, but every time she felt the darkness begin to welcome her, a splash of water or a harsh punch to her midsection would rouse her, awakening her to the malicious faces that held nothing but pain.

Her clothes hung tattered around her body, and she knew that she must be practically nude from how the blood overwhelmed her simple clothing. She was bleeding profusely, and she absently watched as her blood seeped out of her countless wounds, flowing off the altar whereupon she was sprawled, dripping down to stain the polished marble floors a deep, horrifying red.

She could no longer feel her pulse pounding in her head… could no longer hear her blood rushing within her ears.

With a strange clarity amidst the fog of her agony, she understood…

She was dying.

“She still isn’t giving in, captain,” the one that she had learned was called Burter, said. “She’s almost dead. We won’t get anything out of this bitch.”

“For as long as she is breathing, we have a chance,” the captain said. “Jeice! Burn her again!”

Bulma looked up through her darkening vision as the said man stood before her, a contemplative leer on his face. “I don’t know, captain. Seems like all this pain isn’t really doing much to sway her.”

“We should just leave with the crown, figure it out ourselves,” said the shortest of the men. Bulma remembered how he had earlier cut across her right leg with a sharp knife, laughing giddily as she tried and ultimately failed to hold in her cries of pain.

“We are not leaving without the information,” the captain said. “If we take the crown without knowing how to use it, we could sell it for a price, yes. But it will be _priceless_ if we knew how to summon the demon gods of destruction.”

Bulma watched as Jeice moved towards her, a simpering grin widening on his lips as his eyes traveled leisurely from her beaten face, to her exposed chest, and her bruised and bloodied thighs. A chill went through her body as his eyes took on a gleeful, unholy glow, his teeth gleaming as he flashed her a malicious smirk.

“Even fucked up like this, this priestess isn’t bad to look at, don’t you all think?” he asked, circling the altar as his stare lingered on Bulma’s bare breasts.

Bulma saw the captain straighten, before he walked up to stand beside Jeice, similarly ogling her. “She isn’t. Do you think that this is why the prince picked this one?”

“Quite sure she has a pretty tight cunt, as well,” laughed another.

Bulma felt her weakened heartbeats stutter as the men came closer, and Bulma realized with a sinking feeling that before she perished, she would also be forced to live through this most despicable debasement. She closed her eyes, calling for death, hoping for it to come and end her misery before these disgusting men laid their hands on her in such a way…

But the hands that gripped her were searing and lustful, nothing like the cold claws of death that she so badly wished for… and she sobbed, closing her eyes, knowing that she would endure this, as well.

Yet, as the pirate’s hand gripped painfully at her shoulder, Bulma felt a strange throb begin to form at the base of her neck. The pulse grew more powerful as she felt one of the men climb up the altar to hover over her, and Bulma clenched her fists weakly, trying to concentrate on the flutters that erupted from where she knew Vegeta’s mark still shone.

A cold chill ran up her arms, exactly as the pirates suddenly cried out in surprise.

“What the fuck?” shouted the man who had been on top of her, as she felt him hurriedly climb off the altar.

Bulma opened her eyes, and what greeted her vision made her heart soar …

Darkness…

The obsidian blackness of night filled her vision as the cold around her began to deepen, holding her in place while she heard the men scramble about in blind panic.

“What the hell is happening?” she heard the captain cry out as the thick, familiar darkness spread, blinding them to everything as the shadows doused out the light of the moon and made the torches around them flicker out… as if light itself trembled in fear.

But she was not afraid. She _knew_ this darkness, was comforted by it…

She remembered that Vegeta had told her once, that she need not fear the dark… it was her ally, for as long as she belonged to him.

And she did… she was _his_. She always would be.

She heard the men begin to scream as they scrambled madly towards the doors. A smile tugged at her lips as she listened to them curse at each other, upon realizing that the doors had been sealed shut…

“Pull the fucking door, Guldo!”

“I’m trying! It won’t budge! What the fuck is going on?”

A single spark of red appeared in the center of Bulma’s vision, a small spot of light that floated a mere inch above her chest. She watched with baited breath as the spark grew into a flame, and her spirit soared at the familiar vision as the flame began to take form.

She forced her eyes to open as widely as they could, as the red light rose up to form a silhouette of fire against the endless blackness. She watched as it began to solidify, taking the shape of a man with a broad chest, slim waist, and a head that seemed surrounded by flames.

The joy that flooded her made the agonizing pain of her body seem dull, and she smiled, finally allowing herself to speak a word that she had not uttered, had not even thought of, in so long…

“Vegeta…”

The flaming apparition turned to her, and she thought she saw the darkness of his eyes through the blinding, scorching heat.

She watched as he floated down, approaching the door where she knew the men hunkered together in abject horror.  

“What are you?” she heard the captain scream.

Soft, sardonic chuckles followed the question, and she thrilled as she heard Vegeta’s deep voice speak.

“I believe you had wanted to see the Prince of the Saiyajin?” he asked menacingly, his fury clear through his soft but clipped tone.

Bulma wanted so badly to turn her head, but she couldn’t move a muscle. She was too weak; in too much pain. She attuned her ears to where Vegeta stood, desperately listening to the sound of his voice.

“Feast your eyes, pirates,” she heard him spit. “For this vision of me, is the last thing that you shall ever see.”

She shut her eyes as the agonized screams of her captors rang loudly within the temple, as a fearsome roar blanketed the dark night. She did not need to look, to know that Vegeta was avenging her, judging from the gurgled chokes and the sound of bones crunching within the Prince’s grasp.

In mere minutes, the sounds of torture ceased, and Bulma sighed as she saw the flames that surrounded Vegeta approach her once again.

She felt her heartbeats stutter… tasted the blood as it leaked out the sides of her mouth to splash luridly upon the surface of the altar, mixing with the crusted blood that had already matted her hair.

The flames were hot, but Vegeta’s touch was soothingly warm as it rested upon her cheeks. Bulma heard the clinking of metal, felt the coolness of it against her skin, and she turned her gaze, finding thick, dark chains shackled across Vegeta’s wrists.

She blinked her heavy eyes, searching for him… and out of the fire, she saw him… beautiful, whole and _there,_ standing before her and gazing sorrowfully at her with his gorgeous dark eyes. His perfect lips were twisted into a wounded grimace, his brows furrowed together beneath his deep widow’s peak.

“Bulma…” he called softly, fury and regret making his voice sound painfully hoarse. “Forgive me… I tried to get to you…”

“You’re in chains,” she whispered, fighting the lump that clogged her throat. “Are you hurt? Was this-”

She choked, keeping her gaze on him as thick liquid filled her mouth, and she tried to spit it all out so she could speak. “Vegeta… did they hurt you because of me?”

“It does not matter,” he said, shaking his head.

Bulma thought she saw tears fill his eyes as he looked at her broken body. She wanted to reach up to touch him, to lift her head up to kiss his lips, but she was far too weak…

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, just as she too began to cry, remorse filling her as she looked at the shackles on her beloved prince. “I shouldn’t have… I only wanted…”

“Don’t,” he rasped. “Do not apologize. I have failed you far, far worse…”

“I love you,” she said, now fighting the numbness of death as it began to flow through her cold veins. “Thank you for coming for me.”

“If I had only marked you right, I would have-” he murmured, his arms wrapping around her torso, rocking her to him as his tears finally fell, landing on her lips as he pulled her close. “I would have been able to break free sooner…”

“I didn’t tell them your name,” she said. “You know… I would never betray you.”

“I know you are loyal to me. I know...” he sobbed. “Bulma…”

“I’m dying,” she whispered. “Perhaps, I shall see you again…”

The last vision she beheld was his face as he embraced her, his eyes dark amidst the sea of red flames that still surrounded him, but strangely, did not burn her.

8-8-8-8-8

He felt it, as the warmth of her life force left her… as her weak fingers fell limply to the marble altar, while her soul slowly drifted into the underworld. He held her battered body as her last sigh of breath caressed his skin, and Vegeta viciously cursed, furious at the knowledge of the agony that she had endured, the torment that had befallen her frail body, all because of his foolishness.

“No,” Vegeta whispered… _Begged_. “Bulma, no…”

His fault… this was all his fault.

If only he hadn’t taken her for himself… if only he had not been so weak…

He shook in endless wrath as he held her lifeless form, and he felt the Shadows of Nothingness rage around him, howling in response to his bitter anger, seeking the destruction that could calm his rioting emotions…

He heard the screams beyond the temple, knowing that the obsidian darkness had begun to rage out of his control, but he did not move to stop the shadows as they spread their overwhelming darkness upon the world.

The King of the Gods of Creation had been right… this realm was wicked.

And they had destroyed the only good thing they had left… the only thing that was worth saving…

Bulma was gone.

He felt his powers flare, rising up and reaching beyond his body as he held tightly onto his woman… his queen…

Vegeta’s cry of anguish rang loudly, drowning out the horrified screams of the people as their world was swallowed by his vengeful darkness.

8-8-8-8-8

_To be continued…_


End file.
